


Release from the Chains:  Missing Links

by Zevgirl



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Comfort/Romance, Consensual Kink, F/M, Hurt, Loss of Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zevgirl/pseuds/Zevgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be a series of one-shots that will include some moments between Finola and the people in her life. Some back-story and future-story events showing events that brought Bran and Finola closer together, as well as moments between Finola and Sebastian that complicated their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Firsts

Bran stood on the balcony overlooking the Keep's main entry hall, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression staid.

Distraction. Finola was a complete and utter distraction. He couldn't stop thinking about last evening when they sat together on a couch in front of the hearth in her home, often in uncomfortable silence.

Finola's mother had been murdered the day before, her body parts used to create a living corpse for a deranged blood mage's fantasy. Bran had stood in front of the door to her home wondering what he could say to her to ease her grief. For a split second, he had thought to flee the scene and forget about the sympathetic gesture he had in mind. But he had wanted to see her, comfort her if he could, use his talent for conversation in some way other than political maneuvering. He had willed his hand to come up and lift the doorknocker all the way up, letting it fall with a loud metallic thud.

Bodahn stood behind the door as it opened, his face haggard and saddened. What Bran didn't know then was how this evening would change everything he had ever thought about his future.

* * *

"Good evening, Seneschal Bran. I'm not sure if Messere Hawke is accepting visitors tonight." The dwarf pulled on the door allowing just enough room for Bran to slip in. "Please wait here a moment."

Bodahn walked towards the main room and spoke with unusual quiet. "It's Seneschal Bran, messere. Shall I tell him you are indisposed?"

Bran craned his neck to catch a glimpse of her and saw a flash of golden hair as she rose from the couch. He felt a bead of sweat fall from his brow and quickly brushed it away, forcing his demeanor to calm as he was accustomed to doing every day at the Viscount's Keep.

"No. Send him in, Bodahn," he heard her say in a weary voice, and his heart broke a little.

Bodahn waved him in and he looked at Finola as she walked towards the hearth and stared into the flames. She sighed and turned to see him, her lips firm and straight. "Seneschal, is there an emergency at the Keep? I can't imagine any other reason you'd come to my home at this hour."

Bran cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to intrude. I've only come to offer my sympathy."

"Oh?" She gave him an appraising look. "Well… thank you. That is most appreciated, and quite unexpected, to be honest." In the awkward silence, she moved to stand near the couch and motioned for him to sit with her. "Please, have a seat."

Against his better judgment, he did just that. Finola's skin looked so pale, and it always reddened when she was upset, as it was now. He was unable to tear his eyes away from her face, her beautiful, tear-stained face so stricken with sorrow that it pained his heart to see her, but still, he couldn't look away. "I'll sit for a few minutes."

Watching her hair cascade past her shoulders as she settled on the couch, his heart clenched with involuntary desire. He silently chastised himself for being so selfish as to see her _that_ way when her mother's death had her suffering so. In a second of panic, he cursed himself for giving in to this silly whim, this lame attempt to offer his condolences. Surely, she had her friends, which he did not count himself one of, for support and comfort. None of them was there at present though, and it was too late to retreat, so he made an effort to carry on with his plan in hopes he would be able to imprint a memorable moment on his mind.

With the firelight glow on her cheeks, she looked rather lovely, even though her eyes were puffy and red rimmed. He had never seen her without armor on, or with her hair so tousled and not in her usual tight bun. She wore an ordinary pale blue shirt and casual pants, which were both quite wrinkled he noted, clothes the likes a man would wear. He wondered if perhaps the clothing she wore was _his_ , that righteous brother from the Chantry who wasn't man enough to admit his love for her and leave his vows behind. _Damn fool._

"Where are my manners?" she said. "Would you like a drink? Brandy or whiskey… water?"

"No, thank you," was all he managed to say.

She shrugged and pointed at the small box he was clutching, forgotten with the nervous emotion that was flowing through his body. "What is that in your hand?"

"Oh, this... Just a small token. I," he hesitated a moment before continuing. "I thought flowers would be inappropriate given the circumstances."

Her brows narrowed for a moment, surprised by his thoughtfulness. "Everyone sent flowers. Some even sent white lilies. Can you believe that?" Bran could only offer a stunned expression as he shook his head. "Idiots. I had Bodahn and Sandal take every single stem to the Chantry... as a donation."

"I'm sure that was looked upon as very generous," he said calmly, battling the urge to shout obscenities and ask for the names of those heartless wretches.

"I don't really care how it was looked upon," she muttered. "So, that box…?" She reached for the small package as he held it out, almost childlike in her curiosity. His fingers brushed against hers in the exchange, and the flutter he felt in his stomach rose up to his throat, scratchy and sharp. He pulled out a handkerchief and coughed into it once. The lid on the box slid upwards as she pulled, revealing a small ball of chocolate candy covered with nuts.

"As I recall, this particular confection can be very soothing to the nerves," he explained. "It's called a truffle. I discovered them on a trip to Orlais several years back. Then I heard of a woman who sold them in the marketplace. She had fled Denerim during the Blight and came to Kirkwall to sell her confections," he prattled.

Was she smiling at his nervous chatter, or just being polite? He decided it didn't matter. The small smile she wore was infectious and his lips quirked into a grin as she looked up at him.

"It looks delicious. I don't even care if it's good for my nerves," she said eagerly. "I know my taste buds are going to sing." She looked up at him suspiciously. "Did you know I love chocolate, or was this just a good guess?"

"I'm paid to know your likes and dislikes, Serah Hawke," he said casually, but realized too late that it sounded terribly condescending. "That is to say I've heard you have a tremendous sweet tooth." His attempt to lessen the curtness of his first statement wasn't much better.

"Oh," she said softly, disappointed, hurt even, but that didn't stop the immediate flash of anger in her eyes. "So this is a _politically correct_ visit, and not a personal one. I should have known," she snapped, pinning him with a steely glare.

"Oh no, no! I didn't come here under obligation. I came here to see you of my own accord." His words rushed out quicker than he intended, and he suddenly felt like a youth apologizing to his first sweetheart for some childish faux pas. He threw his shoulders back and raised his chin. "I apologize if that remark seemed… boorish or patronizing."

She kept her eyes on him and they softened under his attentive gaze. He made sure it was obvious to see that he was, in fact, sincere.

"No need to apologize. I… misjudged you." Then she proceeded to reexamine the truffle, delicately taking it out of the box and admiring its form. She brought the candy to her pink lips and bit a small piece off, savoring the flavor on her tongue with her eyes closed. "Mmm, this is wonderful," she said softly.

In his head, he pictured her melting in his arms as he kissed her passionately, and whispering his name as he brought her closer to nibble on her ear.

"Oh Maker, chocolate really is my one true love."

Bran couldn't help staring at her, fixating his every thought on her. No other woman had affected him the way she did. As far as he was concerned, there wasn't a woman in Kirkwall who could match her beauty, her intelligence, her charm. His keen intuition knew she had rarely allowed anyone to see what she was truly made of, but he saw it. And there were no words to adequately describe what exactly it was that he saw in her beyond her outward appearance. But Maker, he wanted Finola all to himself.

That was the moment Bran realized that he loved Finola; the same moment she professed her love for chocolate. _How ridiculous._

This infuriating woman had gotten under his skin like a splinter and needled her way into his heart, and he was unable to stop spiraling head-over-heels in love with her, wholly in need of her presence, her voice, her… everything. They hadn't shared so much as a kiss or a hug, hardly any contact but for a handshake or shoulder brush, but Finola had consumed all his thoughts and desires.

Her lips turned up when her eyes opened and Bran was wearing the warmest expression, beyond happy to see her smile finally reaching her eyes.

"Would you like some?" She held the truffle near his mouth, but he shook his head, declining in forced silence. He couldn't allow the words in his head to tumble from his lips, not yet anyway.

"It's so good. You don't know what you're missing," she tempted.

"It's only for you," he said in a low voice. _I could give you everything…._

Tucking some stray hairs behind her ear, she smiled at him. "Thank you, Seneschal. It was kind of you to think of me." Then she frowned as her shoulders slumped. "You know, you're the only person who's come to visit me since yesterday afternoon when Sebastian and Varric brought me home. So much for friendship, huh?"

"These situations are often awkward." As he rubbed is chin in thought, it occurred to him that she was still young and inexperienced, probably somewhat unaware of how selfish people could be when faced with the possibility of having to console someone in their hour of need, friend or not. Bran shifted into the mode he knew best - adviser. "I wouldn't hold it against them. I'm sure they don't know how to respond to your mourning. Maybe they haven't any experience with tragedies of this sort. "

"But you have, haven't you? Your wife died quite a few years ago now," she said thoughtfully. "Tell me, Seneschal, will this pain ever dull? Will I ever feel less… guilty?"

"Guilty?" His face softened, concern written across his brow. "How so?"

"The flowers, the late nights… she never could get him to visit here. I should have known, should have sensed his powers over her. If I'd insisted on meeting him…."

"Serah Hawke, she was a grown woman. She was your mother, yes, but still a responsible, intelligent woman duped by a clever and deranged blood mage. There _was_ no way of knowing what he'd do."

"Easy to say, not so easy to live with," she managed weakly. Her eyes started to fill with tears, and he could see her posture tense as she tried to control her emotion.

Her gaze was almost hypnotizing him and he couldn't look away, he _wouldn't_ look away. "If you had met him and realized his powers, you'd be dead right now. There's no question he would have eliminated you first."

"My life for hers would have been worth it. Instead, my mother died, like my brother, my father, even my sister may as well have died in the Deep Roads due to my recklessness. All the failures I have to live with…."

"No. Those events were all circumstance, chance, fate, and we have no control over such things. Their lives were not in your hands. I _know_ you understand this intellectually."

"It's in the Maker's hands, right?" She gave a short laugh.

"Absolutely. You mustn't hold on to any guilt. It'll eat away at you until there's nothing but… hatred and bitterness." His heart ached, longing to hold her, to smooth her hair and rock her like a hurt child. But then the fury boiled within him at her isolation and loneliness. "And where is Vael now? Has he not helped you with his particular brand of pious comfort?"

"He said he'd offer a memorial at the Chantry." Sighing, she looked at him, smoothing out her expression, and then shrugged and looked away. "It was a nice gesture."

"A nice gesture," he repeated flatly. " _He_ should be here. _He_ should be comforting you, listening to you, holding you." As the words spilled out, he saw that Finola wasn't sure how to respond to his sudden interest in her love life, or lack thereof. … _new topic._ He was just about to point at a painting when she spoke.

"Maybe I've said too much," she said uncomfortably. "I know you don't see eye to eye with Sebastian, but he is an honest and moral man. He means well." She gazed into Bran's eyes as he struggled to maintain composure.

"As do I," he said sincerely. Nobles, Viscounts, even royalty didn't give him butterflies in his stomach the way she did. _Maker, why does she affect me so?_

"I know you do, Seneschal. Was no one there for you either… when your wife died, that is?"

Bran sadly remembered the last woman he loved, and grimaced at the memory _. Please, no. I cannot have that conversation right now_. "We're not discussing my past," he said waving her off. "But Vael should know how alone you are tonight, how you needed a shoulder to lean on."

"But I'm not alone, am I?" she said, her voice gentle and thankful as she reached out to touch his knee. "You're here and that means a great deal to me, even if you felt it was your duty to check on me." Something softened in her expression as she lightly traced a finger over his kneecap.

Bran stiffened at her touch, but instantly hungered for more when she moved her hand back to rest on her lap. He sighed and looked into her eyes, eyes he could easily drown in if he wasn't careful. "I've already said it was _not_ my duty to come here. I simply understand what you are feeling. The pain will lessen in time, the ache will subside, and fond memories will replace it."

"Why am I telling you all this anyway?" She shook her head. "I've just said things to you I never dreamt I'd say to anyone. Why is that, you think?"

"I just happened to be the person here when you needed to talk. Or maybe… we are more alike than you'd care to admit." He smiled and wondered what she thought about that.

"Hm." Her expression went blank. Was she fascinated by that thought or utterly horrified? "You may be right, Seneschal."

 _Ah. And now we have something in common._ "If I may offer some advice…?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course."

"Sit in your mother's room, look at her things, hold them close and reminisce. Let yourself _feel_ and do not run from the sorrow. Embrace it, and conquer it."

"Solid advice, no doubt. But," she paused, shifting closer to him. "I'm afraid to, afraid I'll… lose control, and…."

"And what? Throw a glass? Destroy a painting? You can do that if you want. I'll even help."

She smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood. "We'd probably end up tossing books at each other by the end of the night," she joked.

"Maybe I should leave you to it then," he said as she looked into the hearth.

"I know you and I have been adversaries on various occasions, but can you… stay a while longer? Maybe… talk with me for a few minutes more?"

"Yes… Certainly." _I'd stay all night if you'd ask me to._

"If only people could see you now, Seneschal. You get a lot of unjustified criticisms, you know that? I think you're a good egg, Bran Wyndham."

"Maker, please. Don't ever say that in mixed company!" He gave her a sideways glance, accompanied by a wry smile. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Seneschal… _Bran_ , I like this side of you. Pity you don't show it more often. I imagine there is a lucky woman who gets to enjoy your humorous insights and caring qualities."

That she'd said this knowing his reputation at the Blooming Rose, floored him. She had to know he was unattached; the stories of his escapades with women were well recited in the circles she travelled in. She was being considerate of him, trying to save him any discomfiture, and that was very encouraging, although still embarrassing.

"I'm not involved with any one particular woman at the moment. I've no time for such folly anyway," he said flippantly. "Late nights, having dinners and holding hands… bah. That's for younger, more foolish men."

"You're making excuses now," she chided with a grin. "You made the time to be here with me, right? You know, there are several eligible and well-bred ladies I can think of who would absolutely adore the chance to prance around on your arm."

"Thank you, but no." Finola was treading on dangerous ground, only she didn't know it. There was only one woman he wanted, and that woman had her sights on Sebastian Vael. How could he compete with a future Prince? Too soon, his emotions were clouding his judgment too soon. He needed time to think, to form a plan. He had to put an end to the direction the conversation was heading in before he said something he would regret for the rest of his life. "Why are you prying into my personal life? I'm sure there are other, more suitable types in need of your match-making skills."

"Oh, forgive me. I only wanted to help," she said as she looked away, frustration evident in her voice.

 _Too harsh_ , he thought. He reached out and touched her arm lightly and her eyes met his. "I didn't mean to seem unappreciative. I'm a private man, Serah Hawke. I usually don't discuss things of this nature with…."

"With who? Associates? Are we not friends as well?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "I thought we were."

"I suppose we are… now." He watched as she picked at a hangnail. Now it was his turn to feel guilty. "But I'd still prefer to stay off the topic, if you don't mind."

"Of course. So," she said in a high pitch. "How is the Qunari situation looking? I think the Arishok isn't far from lashing out."

He nodded once. "I agree with you."

"If the Viscount's office needs any help in dealing with him, let me know," she said as she straightened her back. "The Arishok seems to respect me for some reason. Maybe I can help."

"Time will tell, but… thank you for your offer of aid. I will mention it to His Excellency." The urge to leap from the couch and run out the door was overwhelming Bran. Any more time spent with her could lead to the end of their now harmonious relationship. "It's getting late. I should go home for the evening. I need to be at the Keep just after dawn."

"Yes, yes, it is late. I'll show you out."

"That is not necessary, Serah Hawke."

"Would you please call me Finola already, or even Fin. Anything but a damnable title."

The strength he heard in her voice was heartening, and he decided he would make a toast to himself and his efforts when he arrived at his home later. He tipped his head and looked at her for a long moment.

"As you wish… Finola." Hearing his own voice say her name was somehow encouraging, exciting. He had known her for a few years already, but had never once used her given name. _A night of firsts_ , he thought.

"And don't argue with me anymore. I'm walking you to the door and that's final." She stood from the couch and motioned for him to do the same.

He smiled. "Stubborn aren't you?"

"You have no idea," she laughed.

When they reached the door, she paused before opening it and stood in front of him. She seemed peaceful now, and grateful for his company. He could read it in her gaze, and it robbed him of his breath.

"Even under the circumstances, I've enjoyed talking with you, Bran. You have helped me more than you know." Before he could react, she threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear, and a shiver went straight down to his toes. To be so close to her, to smell her intoxicating rosy scent was almost too much and he had to pull away before he was entirely lost in her arms. As their heads moved away from each other, he caught her gaze, and they both froze, captured in the moment. He saw a spark of… something, but whether it was appreciation or desire, he wasn't sure.

"Well," she said softly as she averted her eyes to the floor and worried her lip, "I'll, um… wait to hear about speaking with the Arishok then."

And there it was, a little nervous tick indicating there _was_ more to her look than gratitude.

He stepped over the threshold and stood outside the door grinning. "Good night, Finola."

"Good night, Bran," she whispered.

He nodded and smiled as she closed the door, and then whistled a happy tune all the way to his front door.

* * *

Earlier in the morning, Bran had suggested to Viscount Dumar that Finola Hawke assist with the Qunari situation. Dumar had agreed and a messenger was sent to Finola's house requesting her presence at the Keep immediately.

Waiting patiently on the balcony, Bran kept his eyes on the Keep's large wooden doors expecting to see her stroll in at any moment, hopefully without her companions. The previous night had gone as well as could be expected, actually, better than he imagined it would; the realization that he was in love with her hit him like a bolt from out of the blue.

He would speak with her after the meeting, as usual, but this time he _would not_ vehemently deny wanting her involvement. In fact, he'd be more than happy to discuss every single detail he could come up with. And then some.

He stared down at the marbled floor and in his mind's eye, he was dancing the Remigold and holding Finola tightly in his arms as they sailed across the floor. Breaking his fantasy all too soon, the large doors swung open and Finola stepped inside, alone, and she instinctively glanced up to Bran's usual post. She waved happily to him and picked up her pace, bounding up the stairs. He watched her as she approached him, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Fancy seeing you again so soon, Bran."

Her smile melted away the winter's cold that had settled in his bones. "Good morning, Finola. You look… healthier today."

"An interesting compliment," she smirked, and then leaned in to whisper to him. "I did as you suggested last night. If I look any better, it's all due to you." She moved back and tipped her head in the direction of the Viscount's office. "Let's get this over with and then we can talk… if you don't mind listening to me go on about my intense emotional experience last night," she said hopefully.

"I'd like that." Bran followed behind her and found it almost impossible not to feel a little giddy inside.

 _Someday, Finola. Someday we will be together the way it was meant to be. And you will never be lonely again._


	2. Warmth in Cold Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This takes place after Saemus Dumar's death, just before the Qunari showdown in Act 2, although I filched some dialog with Bran that happens after Hawke is made Champion._

"I seem to recall you being very critical of Saemus before." Finola tapped her toe while waiting for Bran's reply as he stood with arms crossed, staring down at the main entryway to the Keep.

After a few moments of silence, Bran couldn't think of a comment to counter her assertion. He only hung his head and sighed. "You don't watch a child become a man and not feel something when he is lost. We had some spirited discussions, sometimes he challenged me on this or that, and I'd scramble to avoid offense." He laughed somberly with a slight shake of his head.

"Oh, I… I didn't realize you were close," she said, feeling slightly guilty about her disapproving tone.

Bran looked away, gazing down toward the massive wooden doors of the Keep again. "His loss will have an effect, of that I am certain."

"I agree, and I'm sure when I meet with the Arishok tomorrow to retrieve the two elven converts, he will confirm that effect." Finola rubbed her temples at the thought. "Anyway, I still can't believe Dumar couldn't bring himself to go to the Chantry to look for his own son. Neither one of them was thinking clearly." Finola shook her head. "What was wrong there?"

"Saemus was looking for something his father couldn't offer him, and I could never fault him for that. Dumar was thinking of Kirkwall, but as a father myself, I didn't agree with Dumar's lack of action."

"Even so, I can't help but think Saemus was partially to blame."

Her flippant remark made his blood run cold. "A man's child is dead, a boy who ran through these halls." Utter bewilderment at her words struck deep within Bran's core. For a moment, he wondered whether it was worth it to go ahead with his plan to win Finola's heart. He pinned her with a livid stare. "Whatever his faults, this is a tragedy," he replied in a cold voice. He stepped closer to Finola and spoke with quiet abruptness. "Maybe I've been overly optimistic where you are concerned, _Hawke_."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" she said with narrowed brows. "I'm just being realistic."

"Oh? And does part of your realistic viewpoint include your clandestine meetings with Sister Petrice?"

"Do you have any idea how I felt when I found that boy's body yesterday?" Finola tipped her head, repressing the urge to shout in his face. "Are you really saying his death is _my_ fault?"

"I'm saying your previous actions _may_ have had some influence."

"Petrice would have killed Saemus no matter what I did. I sided with the Qunari when it came time to fight her." She fell silent for a moment as her hackles slowly rose. "I realize I've made some mistakes, but haven't we all? You were there when I told Dumar that Saemus was being lured to the Chantry. I didn't hear _you_ offer any help!"

"And what would I have done? It's not _my_ job to maim and slaughter."

"You're right, that's my job," she replied with gritted teeth. "Apparently, the only thing you have to worry about is who you're going to stick your prick into next, like the widow Tavner!" Bran glared at her, his cheeks reddening with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "Yeah, that's right. Don't think I didn't see you sneaking out of her house the other night."

Bran was surprised, to say the least. She had taken him to task many times before, but this was different. There was something unusual about her, something beyond anger and mourning. She looked pale and cold and he sensed vulnerability, maybe shame. _And… Maker, could she be jealous?_ He shook his head, trying to convince himself that he didn't want Finola anymore, that he didn't even _like_ her. It was useless, of course.

"And her husband's been dead, what? Four weeks?" she continued to scold.

"At least she _has_ a lover," he snapped back.

"Oh, that's low," she seethed. "You, with your compromised principles, are not a gentleman, _Seneschal_. You're just a… a bloody," she fumbled for the words. "Just an arrogant man-whore!"

"Oh ho!" His eyes widened as he crossed his arms and laughed at her. "Such a witty comeback. It's no wonder Vael doesn't want to be around you and your inane banter."

"If there weren't people watching us, I'd knock you on your ass, Bran Wyndham," she threatened, her tone growing hostile.

Never in his life had he been afraid of anything, much less a woman. But now, as this muscular and leggy blonde rogue advanced upon him with a look that could kill, he found himself backing up. As her eyes grew wide and she stomped towards him, he secretly felt a thrill while standing back awaiting her wrath.

A tug on her arm stopped Finola in her tracks. She turned to see Sebastian wearing a troubled, if chiding, expression. "Hawke, this is quite inappropriate. We must leave for the funeral. _Now_." She struggled to get him to release her hand, but he continued to pull her away. "You're acting like a child, Hawke. Rein it in for once!"

Finola blew out an exasperated breath. "Sebastian's right. I will not be made late for Saemus' funeral by the likes of you." She shot Bran a fierce glare, now indifferent about who heard the end of their squabble. "Stay the _fuck_ away from me today, Wyndham, or I swear you'll regret it!"

"Don't worry," Bran said with a sneer. _Maker's breath, I love her spirit!_ he mused in silence. _What is wrong with me_?

Finola held her tongue, spiteful thoughts of what she would say to Bran at a later time flying through her head. After a final steely glare at Bran, she unleashed her fury on her unsuspecting companion.

"Damn it, Sebastian! Let. Go. Of. My. Hand!" She pulled away violently and Sebastian released her at the very same moment causing her to fly backward, fully off-balance, and she stumbled into a wall. "Why did you _do that_?" she complained as she scrambled to her feet. "Couldn't you feel me pulling? Andraste's ass, but you men are all alike!"

Sebastian reclaimed her hand to pull her along and mumbled his annoyance loudly, but all she could hear was Bran's mocking laughter.

_Jackass._

* * *

Sebastian had stayed by Finola's side, quietly repeating Grand Cleric Elthina's words as young Saemus Dumar's funeral took place, his pyre burning as brightly as his short life had. On occasion, Sebastian had glanced at her or placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, but she wasn't able shake off her self-pity and cursed herself for being so weak as she watched Viscount Dumar weep openly. Unable to hold back, Finola had shed tears of her own in a rare expression of compassion.

The Chant of Light had passed through Elthina's lips in a mournful drone.

_All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,  
From the lowest slaves  
To the highest kings.  
Those who bring harm  
Without provocation to the least of His children  
Are hated and accursed by the Maker. _

As Saemus' body burned, the sorrowful tone of Elthina's chanted words had gone straight to Finola's guilt-ridden heart. The unbearable smell and the low sounds of weeping had worked in unison to make her feel physically ill. She had swallowed back the urge to wretch and covered her nose and mouth with a handkerchief Sebastian offered her.

She had seen Bran standing beside Dumar as she scanned the gathering of mourners. He was solemn, probably wretched if Finola had to guess based on their earlier conversation. She knew the grief he felt, understood it, but in the thick crowd, she couldn't provide the same comfort he had given her two weeks before. She'd gotten friendlier with Bran in the last weeks and no matter how much she wanted to be mad at him for his earlier remarks, she found it difficult to harbor any anger towards him knowing he had spoken out of anguish. She'd decided to extend a small smile as a peace offering, to which he gave the slightest of nods.

Clouds gathered and a light mist fell as the long, agonizing afternoon came to a close and the funeral finally ended.

The day's events had been tiresome and Finola turned down the proposal to have a few drinks at the Hanged Man with Varric. The mist turned to a cold, bone-chilling drizzle as it fell on Kirkwall, her heavy footfalls pacing their way through the shadows to Hightown. Her head wanted a pillow, but her heart wanted something entirely different. Visions of a warm bath and hot tea faded as a need for emotional comfort swelled in her heart.

Her feet led her to Bran's door and she stood there, weary and sullen. She imagined Bran had felt much the same two weeks prior as he stood at her door. Finola knew she wasn't particularly adept at soothing speech, as evidenced by her lashing out at Bran earlier. She hoped her presence now would be well-received enough to allow her to support him as best she could, and maybe he could give her some solace as well.

Two raps on the door were all that was needed. Bran peered out first, and then pulled the door back to see Finola standing there, her hair damp and mussed, her expression glum.

"Finola, why are you here?" He tilted his head curiously. "Is something wrong?"

"Well, I _should_ chew you out," she smiled impishly, "but I'm just… checking in, seeing that you got home okay." She shuddered suddenly, the cold having caught up with her at last.

"Well, as you can plainly see, I am home and I am okay. Now, if you don't mind, I have some reading to finish for tomorrow's meeting with Cullen." Bran stared at her, and Finola shifted her weight in silence, rubbing her hands over her arms briskly. He reached out to touch her, surprised by iciness of her skin. "You're half frozen, Fin."

At his slight touch, she felt grateful for the tiny bit of warmth. A full-on pout came to her lips. "Can't I come in for a minute at least ?"

"Didn't you tell me to _fuck off_ earlier? Or some such rude demand…."

"Okay, I get it. I am sorry for that, but in case you haven't noticed, it _is_ raining."

"Fine," he sighed. "Come in out of the rain for a moment," he motioned with his hand and closed the door behind them.

"It's so warm in here," she said thankfully. "I bet you caught a chill today, too."

Bran cleared his throat. "My behavior at the Keep was uncalled for and I apologize," he said suddenly. "Isn't that why you're here?"

"No. No! Look, what we said to each other… emotions were running high and I think we both spoke in haste. Maybe we should… start over again."

"Finola, I have the most horrific of headaches," he groaned. "Can't we rehash this another time?"

"I'm not here to rehash anything," she said dismissively. As she looked at him, she noticed his eyes seemed a bit red-rimmed, and she smelled the alcohol on his breath. "You've been drinking," she said, a statement he wasn't expecting, much to his displeasure.

"What of it?" The cold tone he used was an attempt to scare her off, but she was already wise to most of his tricks.

"Nothing, nothing at all," she waved her hand as she sashayed deeper into the foyer. "Fix me one, too, then. You know what they say about drinking alone."

"Yes, I know the saying," Bran said slowly and then lifted his goblet to take a big sip. "I'll fix you _one_ , and no more." He wanted to resist, to send her home, but everything about her tempted him. Her golden hair and tempestuous eyes, and her mouth, that mouth that begged to be kissed, beckoned him. Even her hips and the way she knew how to use them, swaying with every step as she walked towards the sitting room, had weakened his resolve. Maker, he was a lost man in her presence.

He carried the decanter of whiskey into the room and motioned for her to sit in front of the roaring fire. "Truth be told, I _was_ quite rude, as were you." He chanced a glance at her, but found her expression forgiving. "You know I didn't mean any of it."

"Nor did I."

They sat down on the plush velvet couch, a fluffy silk pillow the only thing separating them. He stared at her, running a finger around the rim of his goblet. "I must thank you for entertaining me with your graceful crash into the wall this afternoon."

"Ha. Ha," she deadpanned. "I _was_ pretty graceful, wasn't I?"

"Like a cat," he smirked.

"At the risk of getting your smalls in a bunch… Tavner's widow… she's a bit… old, isn't she?" she asked with a mischievous, wide-eyed grin.

"You must be joking," he said flippantly. "She _is_ about my age."

"Really?" she said in a high-pitch, and then laughed self-consciously.

"Finola, you do realize that I'm quite a few years older than you. I could almost be your-"

"Stop! Don't you _dare_ say it," she ordered with an outstretched hand. "Well, it's your business anyway."

"Are you perhaps… jealous?" he asked, a devilish flicker in his eye.

"Ha! Please." _Was I? Am I? Shit._ "I could care less whom you consort with."

He saw her swipe at her brow, a nervous indication he had witnessed during card games she'd predictably lost. _Foolish girl_. Feeling his heart beat faster, he was determined to play this out until she admitted her jealousy, or at least _showed_ further evidence of it. "I should think a woman like yourself would appreciate an older, more experienced… hand."

She felt a flush creep up her neck as she rolled her eyes. She faced him with a penetrating stare. "You're certainly confident, I'll admit. But I prefer a man with skills similar to mine, a man who wears a boot knife and slips between shadows as silent as a predatory cat." The focused look she gave him was so impudent, he laughed. "You're younger than Dumar, I'll give you that," she scoffed.

"Ah, Finola," he purred, "you know so little of my _special_ skills." He held up his hands, palms facing her. "Can you honestly tell me that you haven't imagined what these would feel like on your skin, caressing you in places as yet untouched by a rough archer's hand?"

 _Smug idiot. But, he's right._ "I don't think that's any of your business," she snapped, feeling a tingle in places she'd rather not. A long, pale finger traced over her brow again.

 _There it is again. Such a liar._ "I shouldn't tell you this as it will ruin my chances of catching you in any impending falsehoods, but you always run your finger across your brow when you're being deceitful and I thought-."

"How dare you?" she cut in sharply. Mouth agape, her mind raced back to a moment ago. "I… well... damn you, Bran!"

"Take it easy, Fin." He leaned forward and grinned apologetically. "Ruffling your feathers is just so amusing, I couldn't resist. Forgive me."

"Bah. You're an ass," she spat, but she didn't move to leave.

He took the whiskey decanter up from the side table. "Care to indulge now?"

"Getting me drunk won't make me any less annoyed with you," she stated with feigned irritation. Settling back into the couch, she crossed her legs nonchalantly. "So, exactly how old is your son anyway?" she asked, knowing the answer, but desperately needing a new topic to discuss.

"About the same age as Saemus is." He stopped, his brows furrowing, eyes cast downward. " _Was._ "

"Oh Maker, Bran. I'm sorry. I know this has been hard on you."

"One so young should not have had to endure such cruelties."

"No, he shouldn't have," she sighed. "He was a good boy, a caring boy." Her expression had turned remorseful.

"Fin, you know this tragedy was no one's fault. It was simply… fate. Do _not_ feel responsible."

"You're probably right," she said softly. "Shall we move on to something more pleasant?" Her lips turned up in a wide and greedy smile. "Hand me some of that swill, if you don't mind."

"This is _hardly_ swill," he said, aghast. "It is one of the finest whiskies one can find in Kirkwall." Pouring two fingers worth into a goblet, he handed the drink to her and was mildly surprised with the speed at which she drank it down. "Easy, Fin. A few more of those and I'll be carrying you home."

"I can hold my liquor, Bran." As proof, she drank down another shot of the strong whiskey, but then felt a spontaneous wetness sting behind her eyes. Determined to hold herself together, she reached out to playfully squeeze the back of Bran's neck as he turned to put the decanter on a side table. Her brows rose. What she discovered was a solid mass of tense muscles. "Bran, you're as tight as a bow string!"

He lurched forward at her touch. "Maker, your hands are like ice!"

"Sorry! Give me a second." After tossing the silk pillow behind her, she rubbed her hands together a few times, blowing on them in a frantic attempt to heat them up, and then tentatively placed them back on his shoulders. With the heat of the fire on her skin and a little encouragement from the whiskey, she made him an offer. "Let me rub your shoulders a bit." She slipped her hands under the collar of his shirt. "Warmer now?"

"A little." He shifted slightly as an unexpected spasm had him rethinking this foolishness. "But I think-"

"Do _not_ think, just relax. My hands are quite strong, you know. Try wielding two weapons all day long and you'll see how quickly your muscles develop."

"Ah… I can feel the strength you speak of. Impressive," he admitted, "But this isn't necessary, Fin."

"Stop protesting already," she ordered with a flick of a finger to the back of his head. She ran her hands over his shoulders a bit more firmly, alternating the pressure with her fingertips and palms.

That did the trick; she could feel his shoulders and arms loosen and drop a bit. Pulling enough fabric out of his waistband, she slipped her hands under his shirt and briefly kneaded his lower back for good measure.

" _Finola_ …?" he said, drawing her name out. "Why are you doing _that_?"

"Can't you sit still and relax for a minute? Maker's breath, you're jumpy." His neck and upper back were still full of knots, but the rest of him wasn't quite as hard. _At least, not the parts I can feel,_ she giggled to herself. She wondered if he found such personal contact as _stimulating_ as she did.

With little thought, he chanced crossing the line they were sidestepping. "Watch where those hands roam, my dear. You may find more than you bargained for."

 _My dear? So, he does find it stimulating. Very interesting._ "Just enjoy it, Bran. It's not often I offer my massage skills," she said casually. "You're one of the lucky few, my friend." He certainly didn't give the impression of a man about to leap from the couch, and not for the first time, she wished she could see his face.

"It does feel," he paused and opened his eyes, reassured it wasn't the alcohol causing his blissful stupor. "It feels quite nice. Ah, but I wish…."

"What? What do you wish?"

"Nothing," he said with a head shake. "I was about to say something that would ruin this once-in-a-lifetime experience. Forget I said anything."

"It was about Saemus, wasn't it?" Reluctantly, his chin dropped to his chest. "You know, Bran, I do believe you could use a hug." Sliding her arms under his, she wrapped herself around him, lightly pressing her chest to his back, and then clasped her hands in front of him, gently squeezing him once. She rested her head against his shoulder, inhaling his pleasant scent. _Sandalwood soap_ , she thought. "Is this all right? I mean, does it help?"

"Fin, you… yes, but please…." Her breasts pressed against his back and he stiffened as her arms lowered and enclosed around his waist gingerly, slowly drawing him nearer to her. His head was swimming in her embrace. "Please stop… I'm fine."

"I will not stop," she murmured in a peaceful voice.

He twisted his neck, the side of his head near her face. " _Finola_. I appreciate the effort, but-"

"But what?" Her cheek brushed against his hair as she wrapped her arms tighter about his waist, her hands dangerously near his burgeoning response to her closeness. "I'm making you feel better, aren't I?"

"You're making me _feel_ all sorts of things."

"Oh." She released him instantly and sat back as he shifted to face her. Placing her hands in her lap in a tight clutch, she glanced up at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to… I just thought you needed a hug. I know I do." She reached for her goblet and drank the last of it in one gulp, swallowing it with a shiver. "Strong stuff indeed," she choked out. She watched as he quickly downed his before pouring another for them both.

"Are you asking me to hug you back?" he asked with a lusty grin and an eyebrow arched.

A pang of guilt shot through her. He was the opposite of Sebastian in almost every way, but there was something about him she couldn't quite figure, something she found irresistible.

When he put his arm around her waist and drew her a little closer, she could feel his breath, hot on her neck, and his touch, eager to explore. He was the warmest and most reassuring thing she had felt in months. She contemplated whether to indulge in this forbidden fruit or not. It could jeopardize her plans to pursue Sebastian, risking everything for the sake of one night's warmth. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. With these thoughts of Bran, Finola wasn't sure she deserved Sebastian anyway. She shivered.

"Well, only if you're comfortable with the idea, Bran. I'm not trying to flirt or anything. I just thought after today, we could both stand a little consoling. We are friends after all. There's no harm in it." _Let's see what he does now._

"No harm for you maybe." His eyes were all over her then, raking up and down all the dips and peaks he'd longed to touch. The firelight glinted on her tousled waves and her lips were plump and relaxed. He wanted nothing more than to carry her to his bed, to lay her down and reveal his heart. His gaze softened as he took her hand and held it. "I wouldn't mind if you _were_ flirting."

"You're … what? Interested in me… that way?"

"Kiss me and find out." He grinned, taking her other hand, surprising her.

She watched his lips, waiting, but they never came closer. He wanted her to make the move, she realized. She pulled her hands away and let them fall to her sides. "Oh, no, no, no. That's a bad idea, Bran. Surely, you have many other women to fulfill your needs. I'm not one of the girls at the Blooming Rose you know."

"And that is precisely why I want _you_ to kiss me."

"But we work together and there's Sebastian to think of and-"

"Forget Vael. Do you not deserve some affection from someone who is willing to give it?" he said softly, but she remained silent. "Don't try to tell me you haven't kissed another man recently. I know about DuPuis. I have my sources too."

"Oh yeah, Gascard." Unbidden heat rushed to her cheeks and she cracked her knuckles nervously. "That was an impulsive thing, that one kiss. He helped me find my mother. I was grateful and… and distraught. But he gave up magic for good and I know he felt horrible about what happened to the women who were… well, he is quite handsome anyway," she prattled.

"And I'm not?"

"I never said that. You're very pleasing to the eye and you know it."

"Then kiss me already." Desire was plain on his face, his eyes half-lidded, his soft lips parted in silent bliss, waiting. His expression was almost mocking in its beauty, and she would have laughed if she didn't think he'd kick her out of the house in a heartbeat.

Would a kiss born of a need for comfort be so bad? Sebastian would think so, but where was he? At the Chantry, of course – again. It was another lonely night, another night without Sebastian holding her and loving her the way he should. She was suddenly overcome with anxiety, a feeling that almost felt like shame for how effortlessly her eyes wandered from Bran's shoulders downward, and he didn't miss it.

"Let _go_ , Finola," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly at the shot of arousal that coursed through him.

As he took her hands again, he felt their lingering coolness, but her lips were pink, and a delightful warmth radiated from her curious gaze. Growing impatient, he leaned forward and claimed her mouth finding that her full lips were indeed warm. He kissed her long and hard before her lips parted willingly, desire taking over her senses. Their tongues met with teasing licks and their teeth grazed with painless nips before their first kiss deepened and became more passionate.

Her eyes shot open for a moment, realizing the gentle but arousing touches she felt were from _Bran's_ hands. Bran, the seneschal. Bran, the most arrogant and smug man she knew. But he was also the incredibly handsome and seductive man holding her in his arms. Was she losing her mind? How could she feel so comfortable in his embrace, and so safe? _He's so warm_.

As she crushed her lips to his, she felt something amidst her confusion, something tender and soothing. Responding eagerly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. For so long, she had been ignoring her attraction to him, and suddenly, it all seemed too much to escape.

Their next kiss was neither gentle nor romantic, only filled with explosive desire. She opened her mouth and he explored her with his tongue, determined to memorize every bump and curve, should it be a while before he had another opportunity. With a small sound of suction, Bran moved his lips lower, peppering her throat with soft kisses, leaving her whimpering as his fingers entwined with hers.

"There is no shame in this, Finola." Her name rolled off his lips, reverent and sweet. "You're a beautiful and desirable woman who deserves nothing more than to be held and kissed and told what a treasure she is."

"And what did Tavner's widow say when you told her the same?" she questioned as he ran his tongue along her neck.

"She said…." He reached for her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Nothing, because she is undeserving of such sentiment. I would never say those words so frivolously."

She looked to the side, not meeting his eyes. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Don't speak then. Just let yourself feel… _feel me_."

His words went straight to her heart. In truth, it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. But she was scared. Scared of what this could be turning into, and she certainly didn't know how to handle his compliments or show of affection for her. Sometimes her mother had noted her intelligence or penchant for getting out of sticky situations. On rare occasions, Sebastian might praise her choice of battle strategy or skill with weapons. Personal and flattering remarks, however, just didn't happen very often, if ever. But she kept the insecure thoughts to herself and just smiled.

For a few moments longer, he gazed into her stormy eyes sympathetically, silently telling her that it was acceptable to continue. A small giggle was her response and Bran found himself even more aroused by her nervous laughter.

"Let me show you what you do to me," he whispered, taking her face in his hands. "I can pleasure you in ways you've _never_ imagined." The subtle hint of command in his voice sent thrilling sparks through her body, and she couldn't help but moan softly, closing her eyes as he brushed his lips along her ear and whispered more flattering praise.

Moving her head back, she blushed as she saw the raw desire he had for her revealed clearly on his face. "…whiskey went to my head, I think," she managed to whisper, taken in by the whirlwind of emotions, needing something to hold on to, anything.

"It's not the whiskey..."

As soon as she felt his body on hers as he pressed her back to the couch, she kissed him, a demanding and wanting kiss. And he kissed her back, just as demanding, just as wanting, and slowly, she began to let go.

 _Maker, he's good with his hands._ "Bran, this is… surprising," she said, slightly out of breath.

"Not to me." Hope flared inside him and his lips ran along her collarbone dropping kisses in between breaths. "Let me see that hunger I _know_ you possess, Finola. I promise, you will never forget how this feels, how _I_ make you feel tonight."

So many times, she had been afraid of losing herself to her duty to family and friends, to Kirkwall, but in his arms, she didn't feel the hurt, the despair and hatred that she had caused others, that she would inevitably cause again. In this house, with this man who seemed to know her every thought and desire, she felt serene, unchained, like a caged animal set free.

Pressing against his body, their limbs entwined. One hand raked through his thick hair as her other hand wrapped around his shoulder, bringing him even closer. With their bodies molding together, his mouth hot on hers as they savored each other's taste, she was no longer cold or miserable or scared. The heat building between them was overwhelming and suffocating, but invigorating and intoxicating all at once.

He placed his smooth hand against her cheek, stroking it gently. "Finola, I want you. And I know you want me, too." With consummate finesse and patience, he moved to untie the neckline of her shirt with nimble fingertips.

"Bran," she gasped when his hand closed gently over her breast. She lowered her gaze to see his hand upon her, a smile creeping to her lips as her cheeks heated. "Maker, help me, I do…."

"Say it. Tell me who you want."

"You," she breathed. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and imagined what it would be like let Bran make love to her, to touch her in ways no one else ever had, to own her for one night.

He buried his face in her hair, pondering if his kisses exposed his emptiness to her, the emptiness slowly being filled by her now. She pulled him back, her mouth reaching for his until they met, and his lips were merciless, creating a hot sensation shooting through her whole body and forcing any remnants of coldness away. No matter how miserable and cold she was when she entered his home, nothing could match the warmth she felt at that moment.

Their pace intensified. He bit at her neck and the swell of her breasts, sucking on the sensitive flesh there while her hands roamed over his body, one caressing his arm and the other dancing along his hip to reach beyond the waistband of his trews. Fingers and hands were urgent, unrestrained, too much yet not nearly enough.

And then she felt it.

The locket Sebastian had given her, a family heirloom given to her as a token of appreciation and friendship. It scraped against her skin as Bran caressed her, itching, burning, reminding her, filling her with guilt.

"Stop Bran, please. I can't… I can't do this." At hearing the deep breath he took, she sat up and straightened her clothes, averting her eyes. "I'm sorry, but Sebastian deserves more."

Bran pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. "Yes, I've heard you say that before," he pointed out dejectedly, tired of letting his feelings for her lead him blindly. "You don't even know who you want, do you?"

She shook her head, but what she was denying, she didn't know. "It doesn't matter… I don't have to choose between you or him or any other man because in the end, it will _always_ be Sebastian."

Under her spell too long, he had drowned in her arms, in her kisses, and now he felt a familiar pain pressing the air from his lungs. He forced a façade, slipping back into his earlier state of ennui as she managed to collect her senses and swiftly rise from the couch.

With another sigh, he made the decision easier for her. "Suit yourself," he said stoically, trying to hide his disappointment. "Can't blame a man for trying." Standing up, he smoothed his hair and took two steps away from her.

"I suppose I should get home. It's… late."

His arm swept out and motioned toward the entryway as she gazed at him. Puzzled by his ready acceptance, she paused in a weak moment, giving him a chance to convince her to reconsider.

 _Ah, she's taunting me now, baiting me. But the decision must be hers,_ he thought, encouraged by her stalling. _She'll figure it out... one of these days._

"I should never have stayed this long." Overwhelmed and feeling too exposed, too confused, she bee-lined for the front door, stopping as she grabbed the doorknob. She turned to see him standing right behind her, his eyes upon her. Her hand went first to her mouth, still tingling from the hard press of his lips, her fingertips lingering before moving to her neck to squeeze the locket. "I'm sorry, Bran."

He wanted to be angry with her, to feel enraged enough to shout and throw things, but found he was reassured instead. They had made a connection, something that would bind him to her no matter how much, or how long, she refused to acknowledge it. "I don't want you to be sorry. Just… be honest with me."

"I can try," she said quietly, the words sounding trite, hollow. "I… uh… you know I'm meeting with the Arishok tomorrow afternoon, right?"

He nodded and stiffened, concern for her safety borne of his knowledge of the dangers she might face. "I know you'll keep your wits about you."

"Of course I will, but…." New feelings pulsed though her, caring feelings, and an impulsive need to keep him safe sprang from deep in her heart. "The Arishok is ready to snap and may react violently. Forget your meeting with Cullen," she said, her tone sharpened by the magnitude of the Qunari threat. "Stay here, in your house. Do _not_ go to the Keep at all. Promise me, Bran."

 _She's worried for me. My foolish doubts be damned!_ "If you think it's best," he said with forced calm. And just like that, convinced she felt more for him than _she_ even knew, his fate was sealed. "But I should tell Dumar."

"No! Stay away from him. I will go to the Keep and warn him in the morning. I fear… Dumar may very well be a bargaining chip. He's vulnerable now, and can't defend himself. I will do my best to keep him safe, but he will be at risk when I'm not nearby. "

"You really think the Arishok would harm him?"

"It's just a hunch. I hope I'm wrong. Maker, I hope…." she trailed off.

"I'll do as you advise then," he said, placing his hand on her cheek gently, "if you promise me something in return."

"This is no time to be obstinate, Bran. Your life could be at risk." Silently, he waited with wide, unyielding eyes. "Fine. Promise you what?"

He leaned in and kissed her, pushing her against the door, his weight pressing on her. It was only a brief kiss - a goodbye kiss she thought - but it held so much more. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to him, and she froze in his arms. "I'm not going to debate with you tonight, but I will tell you this… one day, you will realize who you truly want, and when that day comes, I will be here, waiting."

 _Is he… could he be in love with me? Me, out of all the woman he's been with? He can't be. It's just… lust._ _Damn him for complicating everything._ "Forget this night, this… moment. I don't want to hurt you, Bran," she whispered.

He cocked his head to the side, his warm smile never fading as he studied her face. "Don't worry about me." She weakened in his arms, tears coming to her eyes, but he shook his head and wiped them away. "It grieves me to see you cry, but it also gives me hope." In that moment, as she leaned against him, he resolved that thoughts of a life without her would leave his mind forever.

She absently brushed a speck of dust from his shoulder, her thoughts spiraling out of control. "You… wanted me to promise something?"

"Promise you'll find me when this Qunari threat is over, so I will know you're safe."

"I'll see you… soon," she murmured, breathless as he let her go.

"Not good enough." He grabbed her by the shoulders and squeezed, his eyes boring deep into hers. "Promise me."

"All right, all right. I promise."

He released her and his lips curved into a knowing grin. "Good."

"Take care, Bran."

"I always do." The events of the evening could not be changed now. Weeks, months, even years could pass, and he would still be able to see a future he could look forward to, a future he would someday share with Finola. No question. He raised his eyes to hers, affection unmistakable in his gaze. "Be careful, Finola."

"Yes… and you… Bran, I-"

He put a finger on her lips, silencing her. "Rest well, my dear."

She wanted to tell him that she trusted him, cared for him, but could never be with him as long as Sebastian Vael walked the earth. Instead, she uttered only wordless sounds. She had already lost sight of how long the day had been, how every bone in her body was aching for a bed. It could have been the dim lighting, or the whiskey, but when she looked at his face, she thought he looked... _happy_.

At a loss, she simply nodded and walked out the door. If she survived tomorrow, she'd contemplate Bran then, and maybe what happened tonight would make some sense.

* * *

As the moonlight filtered through the storm clouds blowing off to the east, he dreamt of her, the words he longed to hear floating from her lips on a breathy sigh.

_Make love to me, Bran. Love me… forever._


	3. Stolen Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _This one takes place after the Qunari showdown. A little Sebastian, some more Bran, and a whole lotta angst._

"Where are you going?" Sebastian called to Finola as she walked past her house.

"I want to stop by Seneschal Bran's a minute." The pounding in her head hadn't stopped since the moment she sunk her blades into the Arishok's chest. Her hand went to her forehead, squeezing her temples with a squint. "He should be told what's happened by a friend."

"I will accompany you then," Sebastian said, and picked up his pace.

She stopped and turned to meet his gaze, no hint of surprise in her expression. "Oh, you don't have to." Twisting her neck for a few moments to ease some tension, she eyed Sebastian, secretly hoping he would offer her a shoulder rub. He didn't. "Would you do me a favor? I'd appreciate if you went to my house and had Bodahn draw a bath for me. I've been dreaming of one all afternoon."

"You're not in any condition to be traipsing about Hightown alone." He scowled, but kept quiet for a moment, obediently following her as she resumed walking along the main path through Hightown. "And I'll keep any unwanted admirers away, _Champion_."

"Please. I'm just Hawke to you, or better yet, Fin. I'm tired of being compared to a predatory bird," she said with a small, forced chuckle.

He laughed. "All right, Fin."

She stopped one house away from Bran's and faced Sebastian. "Thank you, for everything." Ignoring the bloody condition of their armor, she pulled him into a brief hug. "I don't know if I would've gotten out alive without your protection. Your arrows kept whizzing by my head and striking Qunari between the eyes. It was… unreal."

At that moment, he noticed her eyelashes were as flaxen as her hair, making the blue of her irises so warm and welcoming. He didn't know if he'd ever thought about it before, but now that he had, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. "I _aim_ to please."

"Varric's corny humor has finally rubbed off on you," she laughed, reaching out to take his hand. "I'm so grateful to have friends like you. Beyond grateful for _you,_ in particular _._ I hope you know that."

The apostate fawned over her constantly, though if Sebastian was honest with himself, he could understand why she would easily fall for such a man. All the knowing looks and subtle touches Anders shared with her certainly indicated there was more to their friendship. But the way she touched _him_ at that moment, like Sebastian was… more than a friend, and the way she looked at him, as if terrified of losing him. He realized he was just as scared of losing her. But he had his vows, his dedication to the Chantry, and she was aware of his devotion. _Wasn't she?_

"The Maker smiled upon me the day you walked into the Chantry a few years ago. I owe you more than I can ever repay, Hawke… er, Fin."

"No, you don't _owe_ me. And I'm not just saying that to… to force your hand and make you stay in Kirkwall if you already have plans to leave for Starkhaven. I'm happy to have you at my side, Sebastian, however long you stay here." She smiled at him, her eyes shimmering with something he couldn't place.

"No, I'm not leaving yet. You'll need my help anyway. We've already accepted several well-paying jobs, and I expect we'll be offered many more."

"At least that's one perk I won't mind."

As she raised her hand to knock on Bran's door, Finola peered over her shoulder. Sebastian was wearing a most peevish expression. "He's not _that_ bad. Give him a chance."

"Honestly, Fin, I don't know how you can stand his pointed remarks, not to mention his vulgar discourse," he shot back, so frustrated with her, and yet endlessly patient.

"I think he's quite funny," she said with a grin. "Can't you simply ignore him for a few minutes? You are, after all, the most patient man I've ever met."

"I thought _I_ was the most patient man you've ever met."

Finola spun around as Bran appeared from behind a tall stand of shrubs. She smiled and walked toward him, knowing he had to have heard her comments.

Looking back at Sebastian, she saw him grimace. He was so appealing when he did that, an expression much like a pout on his soft, full lips. Leaving him behind to watch for people who might try to rub shoulders with the new Champion was undeniably a good idea, if only to see the adorable frown on his handsome face.

"I'll be right back, Sebastian!" Finola always preferred to maintain a certain level of control anyway. It was easy enough to let Sebastian _believe_ he was managing every situation, but deep down, he realized she held all the power. "Behave!" She wagged a finger at him, and he couldn't help but smile. Now, if he would only fall to her _other_ whims.

The sun had begun to set, painting the pale blue sky with streaks of pink and orange, and taking with it all the anxiety and fear Bran had lived with the last two days. He watched her as she approached, silently praising Andraste for her safe return.

"It's good to see you, Bran."

"And you. Thank the Maker you're safe." Ignoring Sebastian's attempt at an icy glare, Bran threw his arms around her and squeezed her tight. If Bran weren't so concerned for her, Sebastian's expression would have been laughable.

"Bran. Bran! … can't… breathe…."

"Oh… apologies," he said, releasing her. "I'd heard you had only minor injuries, and you do look remarkably unscathed, even if you _are_ covered in dried blood and… brains." He glanced down at his own clothes. _Ah, good. No stains._

"Yeah," she sighed. "Lovely, isn't it?"

Then he spotted a bloodied bandage sticking out of her left pauldron. "Except for your shoulder. Maker, Fin, what happened?" His shocked gaze traveled to her eyes.

"I couldn't escape that particular arrow. I had to break it off and leave it lodged in my shoulder for a while. But other than that, just a few cuts here and there. Anyway, I guess you know everything," she said, her words coming out fast. He nodded somberly. Taking a deep breath, her expression fell mournfully. "There was nothing I could do, Bran. Dumar was already held captive by the time I reached the Keep. I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize." Bran sighed and shook his head. "You _did_ save Kirkwall, mighty Champion. Dumar would have gladly given his life to do the same." He noticed was how pale she was, her skin almost transparent but for the flecks of dried blood. Half-lidded eyes and sagging shoulders convinced him of her exhaustion. For a few more lingering moments, neither of them spoke. "Fin, are you honestly feeling all right?"

"No," she whispered, her voice wavering. "Yes. Yes! I'm okay. I... just have a headache, that's all," she tried to reassure him.

The impulse to sweep her up and tuck her into a warm bed with her favorite pillow was almost overwhelming him. Bran sucked in a shaky breath. "Thank you for keeping your promise, Fin. I wasn't sure you would come here."

"Well, now that you know we are _all_ okay," she said glancing back at Sebastian, "I should get going."

As she turned to leave, he grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard. "Please, stay for a minute longer." Her pulse thrummed under his fingers, and when he let go, his fingertips slid across her palm, feather light. A corner of his mouth turned up when he saw the goose bumps rise on her arm.

Her heart skipped a beat. _No, that's impossible. My mind is playing tricks and I'm just imagining that… feeling._

"You know, there's already talk of a celebration in your honor."

"What?" she said, confusion scrunching up her face. "Oh Bran, if you have any power in this, please don't let it happen."

"Come now. Aren't you eager to slip into some finery and show Kirkwall what you look like without your blood-spattered leathers?" … _Naked_ , he thought with a smile.

"Truthfully? No. And I'm even less eager to be the center of attention."

"Well, you'd better get used to the idea. I'm afraid I have no say in these matters."

"Bullshit. You just want to see me squirm."

"If I wanted to see you squirm," he began with a wolfish grin, momentarily forgetting the disapproving archer standing several paces behind Finola. With narrowed eyes, he looked at Sebastian, a wicked remark on the tip of his tongue. "Well, maybe you should bathe after all. There is a nauseating odor coming from your general vicinity," he said before looking back at Finola, "and you do look a wreck."

"You're incorrigible, Bran," she said, smiling. "Well, as delightful as this conversation has been, I'm going to leave before the worm behind me turns." She pointed her thumb over her shoulder, and Sebastian took it as an indication to join her.

"Do come back later and tell me all the details of your fight with the Arishok."

"I might, if only to see your face when I describe the spine-chilling screams and the river of blood that ran after I sliced the head off a saarabas."

"You'll do nothing of the sort tonight!" Sebastian addressed at Bran directly. "Have you no understanding of what Hawke has been through the last two days?"

"Sebastian Vael, please do not scold me like a child," she growled as she spun around to face him. "What has come over you?"

Sebastian's lips moved, but this time, he had nothing. _She will never change. Never._ "I'm going to your house, as I should have done in the first place." Sebastian stomped off, muttering under his breath.

"And have Bodahn draw me that bath when you get there!" she shouted. "He's so touchy, don't you think?"

"Absolutely." Bran cracked a smile, relief evident on his face as Sebastian disappeared. "The rumors have muddled the whole altercation, you know. One even had you impaled on the Arishok's blade as he swung you through the air."

"I'll tell you, he came close to doing just that a few times. Anders' healing skills were put to the test today. But, I'll save the blood and guts for another time."

"I will await your story with bated breath then."

His smile held the same affection she so vividly remembered from two nights ago. "We'll need plenty of whisky for _that_ tale."

"As you wish." His mind flooded with thoughts of the celebration they would attend. Not together, of course, but that was inconsequential. Something significant was needed, something unique. "Now, go and get clean, Champion."

"Will do, serah." She only got one step away from him before turning back, his serene, admiring expression stealing her breath away.

"I… I searched for you. When I saw Dumar's head roll down the staircase, I thought…." Her voice broke, filled with emotion. She took another step closer. The tears she had managed to hold back began to fill her eyes. Only a few escaped and flowed down her cheek as she forced them back. "Maker, Bran, I looked everywhere for you, in case you ignored my advice. I'm so glad you're alive and well."

"No more than I am!" he laughed, a warm and comfortable chuckle meant to lighten the mood. "I suppose I owe you my life now."

"Ooh, now there's a thought," she said swiping the tears from her cheek. "If you put an end to the celebration, I'll call it even."

"I will _not_."

"Fine. Have it your way," she said. "Payback _is_ a bitch."

"Normally, I would say you are as well, but… I'll let you relish your champion status for a day or two before knocking you off your high horse."

"And here I thought it was impossible for you to become _more_ condescending. I can see I'm going to have to kick your ass one of these afternoons, Wyndham."

"Give it your best shot."

"Don't' worry. I won't break your nose or damage that perfectly handsome face of yours in any way," she said as she tilted her head, her eyes shining with amusement. "But when I exact revenge, you'll never know what hit you."

"You're stalling, Fin." She blinked as her lips slightly parted. "Could it be you prefer my company to that of the archer after all?"

"No," she said with a lilting and uncertain tone. "Tch. I'm leaving now. So… bye… jerk."

"Goodbye... sweet cheeks."

As she shook her backside at him, the smile on her face was almost as large as the one he wore.

* * *

 _Why am I here?_ Bran wondered as his eyes scanned over the sea of greedy people, mingling and eating, dancing without a care in the world. _Useless slobs_. He had been waiting over an hour for Finola to arrive. _Fashionably late must be her mantra_.

The chill in the breeze was unnaturally harsh the afternoon of the celebration in the courtyard of Hightown, but Bran hardly noticed. He was too distracted with thoughts of Finola to care about the coldness seeping through his clothes. Pondering her whereabouts, a flash of golden hair caught his attention. He saw Sebastian twirl the Champion of Kirkwall as she made her grand entrance in the center of the dance area. She was laughing, the sound of her delight carried on the breeze, straight to his ears.

"… and then it threw me off right into a puddle of mud," said the pert little brunette girl standing next to Bran. Her high, shrill laugh caused him to pinch his eyes closed before taking a sideways step away from her.

Bran waved the back of his hand to her. "Perhaps your mother can steal you one tomorrow, Lydia."

"Steal a horse? Oh, Seneschal Bran, you're such an amusing and… strange man."

"Haven't you a pair of shoes to buy or something?" he said to the girl, his gaze steady on Finola. Lydia answered, but Bran heard none of it.

There she was, the Champion of Kirkwall, in Vael's arms and surrounded by well-wishers. The dance came to a halt, and Finola's eyes flashed in Bran's direction. He saw the corners of her mouth turn up slightly.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Lydia called after Bran as he hurried away, silent. "Well, that is just plain rude, Seneschal Bran!"

Heading for the center of the courtyard, his legs moved forward of their own accord, even though they felt filled with lead. He stopped next the musicians and stared at her again, formulating his strategy.

She was smiling at Vael with coy grins, flirting with contrived, bashful eye flutters, completely entrancing the future prince who held her in his arms. It was sickening. A hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach started to rise up to his chest. He paced closer and focused on how lovely she was, repressing the urge to vomit on Vael's boots.

A burgundy dress of silken damask fitted her waist snugly, straining slightly over her ample bosom. The gown hugged her hips, flowing out and down, billowy claret layers trailing to the ground. Tendrils of golden hair blew in the light breeze absorbing the rays of the setting sun and bathing her face in warmth.

She was beautiful. Radiant.

"May I cut in?" Bran heard himself ask, almost unaware that he had walked toward her.

Sebastian looked at him, suspicious and annoyed. "I suppose, if it's all right with you, Hawke…?" Bran smirked at her easy smile. "I'll be waiting with the others over there." She nodded as he pointed to Fenris and Varric standing near a table covered with confections. Sebastian strode away, but not before pinning Bran with a menacing glare.

"Spare me," Bran muttered.

"Ignore Sebastian. He's overly protective at times. " Finola felt Bran's gaze upon her and turned to him. "Good afternoon to you, Seneschal Bran."

"Good afternoon, Champion of Kirkwall."

"I'm surprised your new duties have allowed you to join in the festivities."

"You know I would never miss an opportunity to eat pie with my hands and then belch in public."

"This must so hard for you, you poor thing," she teased.

When she placed her hand on his shoulder and held the other out for him to take hold of, he thought he would melt under her touch. He ran his fingers down the soft waves of golden hair, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. Their fingers entwined, and he curled his arm around her, drawing her closer as their dance began in earnest. Swaying to the music, Bran felt like time had stood still just long enough for him to imprint this moment forever.

She was laughing when he snapped out of his reverie.

"But you'll get no sympathy from me! At least you don't have to wear an uncomfortably tight dress. Maker, I can hardly breathe," she said as he led the dance. "Though I must say you look rather handsome this evening, you evil, evil man."

"Evil? What have I done now?" he groaned.

"Exactly nothing. You could've told me it would've been acceptable to wear my leathers."

"If I had, I wouldn't be gazing upon the loveliest woman in the courtyard."

A wave of uneasiness coursed through her, but when he pulled her closer, pressing against her, she felt her insecurities drift away. "Smooth talk will get nowhere tonight, traitor."

He stared at her boldly, ignoring the inquiring eyes of the onlookers, his self-importance abandoned. "I mean it, Finola. You look… enchanting."

She raised an eyebrow, moving to the music and holding his gaze. "That's a word I wouldn't have expected to come from you."

"No? Have you no recollection of our night together before you sent the Qunari to their graves?" he asked, closely watching her reaction.

"Of course I remember," she whispered, her gaze dropping away from his. Memories surfaced, no longer held close and secure - whiskey and hot breath and smooth fingertips feathering across her skin – but she pushed them back. "Won't your _escort_ be upset to see you dancing with another woman?"

"What makes you think I brought someone?" he asked as he stole a glance at her flushing neckline.

"I saw that annoying chit, Lydia, pawing at you. She must be fantastic entertainment for you," she choked out, a spark of resentment flashing in her eyes. "Someone to flirt with and then bed, no strings attached."

"And did you also see me brush her aside when I noticed you were here?"

She turned her head away, gazing beyond the musicians. "So, is she every bit the tart I've heard she is?"

"Why do you care?" The jealousy in her voice made him dizzy with anticipation. She opened her mouth to say something, his questioning eyes holding hers, but then pursed her lips together, turning away with her chin up. Bran shook his head, laughing quietly at her attempt to show disinterest, or perhaps disgust. "If you must know, her mother sent her over, to suck up to me, no doubt."

"And what does her mother want from you? Grandchildren?"

"Maker forbid! Nothing of that nature." Bran leaned in to whisper, his lips almost touching her ear. "Since her husband's been off to who knows where, she has fallen behind on city taxes."

"You're like an old biddy, you know that." He heard the smile in her voice, amused by this tiny bit of gossip. "But fill me in on the scandal."

"Ah, Fin, we grow more alike every day." He could see the humor and mischievousness in her eyes, and for a moment, he thought his knees would buckle. "Apparently, she's a compulsive spender and can't go a day without a new hat or fancy shoes to complete her ensembles. They are near to being ruined."

"No!" she breathed out in surprise. "Tell me more."

"Perhaps later." He let out a small laugh and grasped her hand tightly as the music ended. "Come. I have something to show you first."

"Can I trust you won't put me on the dais to make a speech?" she asked as he pulled her toward the line of vendors who were selling unique wares for this special occasion.

"Absolutely. I wouldn't want to embarrass you, my dear."

"You don't think I could make a stirring speech for these fools?"

"Actually, I'm sure you can. But I have other, more exciting plans for you this evening," he said as they approached an outer wall of the courtyard.

"Oh? Do tell."

"Just follow me." Seeing her suspicious glare, he smiled and leaned in. "You don't have to be afraid, Fin."

"I'm not afraid!"

"It's only a short distance." His finger brushed the tip of her nose gently. "No one will see."

Her breath caught in her throat. "What does _that_ mean?"

His exasperation was rising, and he began to tug her along harder, although she seemed willing enough. "Just close your eyes and let me lead you, Fin."

"I want to know what this is about," she whined as he led her toward the trade row.

"Oh, for the love of Andraste… _Close_ them, my petulant Champion. Just a few more steps."

Finally, she did as she was told, but he knew she'd steal a look before getting to their destination. No matter. The location wasn't the surprise anyway.

"Stop. You may look now."

When she opened her eyes, she was standing in an alleyway behind a large trader's tent where no one could see them. Bran smoothed his hair into place and turned to her slowly, the fingertips of one hand tracing over his unshaven chin.

To her surprise, he brought his other hand forward and held out a gift, perfectly wrapped in parchment and tied off with purple ribbons. She furrowed her brows and started to reach for the gift, but he snatched it away, his eyes gleaming with delight.

"Tease."

"You love it."

"I do _not_ like to be teased." She reached her hands out again, and he laughed as he handed over the present. She felt it for a moment, her eyes squinting as she tried to imagine what was inside. Sliding the ribbons off, she taunted him with her slowness, looking up with a sly smile.

"Don't flatter yourself." He gave her a smirk. "I'm an exceptionally patient man."

"Bah. You're no fun."

"And as expected, you're acting childish."

"And _you_ love when I act childish."

 _Yes, I do_ , he thought. "Just get on with it," he said, waving his hand at the box.

If she wasn't suddenly holding her breath, she would have laughed. She ripped in to the wrapping paper and tossed the mangled pieces of parchment on the ground. As she pulled off the box lid, her eyes widened at what she saw inside; a superb pair of carved wooden tigers, hand painted with glass eyes and intricately carved teeth. Plucking the figures out of their nest of dry grass, she glanced up at him, her eyes still wide and her lips parted.

His face was an image of seriousness. "Surprised?"

She nodded. "Bran, they're beautiful, so elaborate… thank you."

"When I saw them, I thought of you."

"Tigers made you think of me?" she asked with raised eyebrows. "Because they're deadly?"

"Yes, but also because I know how interested you are in things that are stealthy and mysterious. I thought maybe you'd fancy starting a collection."

"This is a very thoughtful gift, Bran." Without a second thought, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "You've spoiled me now, you know," she said, her breath warm against his cheek. His lips hovered near hers as goose bumps begin to prickle across her body.

"There's plenty more spoiling to be done in my estimation. I'm pleased you like them."

"I _love_ them, but…?" She placed the box on top of the adjacent wall and met his eyes again. "But why?"

He recoiled at her voice, so filled with uncertainty. "Must you always question my good deeds?"

"I'm not questioning your intent. Well… not really," she said, her voice tense. "I just thought maybe you'd want something in return, something I can't give you."

A warm hand took hers gently, his soft voice breathing out. "You're my friend, my closest and perhaps only friend, as sad as that is. I thought it only fitting to get you a small token of appreciation after everything you've been through, and to show you how much your… companionship means to me." His voice wavered, and he cleared his throat to conceal his emotion. They stood for a moment, neither saying a word, but both staring at his hand upon hers. "It could be more, _we_ could be more, if you'd only-"

"You're a great friend, Bran," she cut in. "Truly. You should find a suitable woman to take care of you, to cook for you, and… to love you."

"As you seem to think I have one foot in the grave, maybe you'd like to be my caretaker as I grow weak and decrepit."

"I don't mean it that way, it's just… I think you deserve more from life than all this upheaval, all these… groveling nobles and self-important templars," she said, waving her hand toward the courtyard.

"Without those oafs I might not have a job." In his mindless wanderings, he placed a hand against the rough stone wall, just beneath the box perched atop it. _Timing is everything. When to move in, when…?_

"True enough," she agreed. "I imagine the templars are snapping at your heels every day."

"They are, but let's not ruin this day with talk of templars and government."

"What did you have in mind?" she said with a good-humored smile, as if ready to go off and play games.

"Well," he regarded her with eager eyes, "I had thought to kiss you senseless, but it seems I'm already too late."

"Are you suggesting that I'm drunk?" His brows rose. "I'm barely tipsy." _Well, maybe a little more than tipsy, thanks to the Aggregio._

"Good. Then you won't mind if I kiss you."

His hands flew to her face, entwining his fingers in her hair, pressing her against the stone as he molded his body to hers. Instantly, she responded to the fire in his touch, the fierceness of his need, and he pressed closer to her, deepening the kiss. Sliding his fingertips along the curves of her body, his hands brushed along her hips.

She pressed her cheek against his neck, inhaling the sandalwood scent she loved so much. She whispered to him, saying they should stop, but her weak attempt only resulted in a smile she felt as he placed small kisses on her neck.

She wanted to push him away, to slap him and shout, but she couldn't invent a lie convincing enough to explain why she would do such a thing. Again, her mouth parted under the force of his lips, and her knees began to tremble as she kissed him back, fighting for dominance. Thoughts sped around the crowded space of her mind. How had she ended up in this position? She had thanked him for a gift with an innocent kiss on the cheek, and now she was saddled with feelings she couldn't explain and urges she didn't expect - for a second time.

Pained lines spread across his forehead as he lowered it to hers, his hands caressing both sides of her face. He knew it wouldn't last, but in that moment, he was glad to bask in the warmth of the arms wrapped around his waist. When she tried to pull away, he held her tight for a moment longer.

Breathing deeply, her head jerked back and she met his gaze, her lips swollen from the brutal kiss. "What was all that for?" she barked, taking a step back and shoving her hands down to straighten her dress.

"As if you weren't agreeable," he scoffed. "Do I really have to explain myself to you?"

Even if he hadn't voiced them, he was still making demands that she couldn't possibly fulfill, even after she'd thought he had moved past such feelings. _Hadn't he?_

On the surface, he ignored her feigned anger, but in his heart, he delighted in it. He was ready to show her what she would be missing by rejecting him, but instead, said something impulsive, something that gave away his true disappointment. "Has your relationship with that simpleton of a Chantry brother finally softened your brain?" His words came out far harsher than he'd intended, regretting his tone as soon as he spoke.

Hurt and betrayal were plain on his face, and she was the cause of his anguish, again.

"Look, Bran, I know I haven't exactly treated you as I ought to have, but…." Bran opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand. "Please, let me finish… Someday, Sebastian will be leaving for Starkhaven, and I will be going with him, leaving this Maker forsaken city to its own violent end."

A darkened frown drove his lips downward as he avoided her eyes. "And does Vael know this?"

"He will, in time."

"Why are you running away?" he whispered, his voice holding an echo of disquiet. Reaching up, he brushed his fingers along the side of her face. He searched her eyes, trying to find some semblance of uncertainty in their depths, but they were frozen. Knowing that there might be no point in trying, he still said, "You'll never be happy in Starkhaven. Kirkwall has been good for you. Why would you leave it behind?"

"Isn't it obvious?" The truth, it seemed, was irrelevant at this point. She jerked her head away from his touch.

He grabbed her hand, his grip tightening. "I don't believe I've lost you to him, not yet."

"What?" She yanked her fingers away. "You're not making any sense."

"I want you, Finola. _All_ of you." A faint smirk crossed his lips as he leaned in to whisper. "Stop running from me."

She held her breath and closed her eyes before she breathed against his lips. "But I don't _want_ _you_. I don't know how to make it any clearer."

"Your actions do not match what your mouth is saying."

With a single gasp, she slapped him across the face, hard. "Just stay away from my mouth. Stay away from _me_."

He barely flinched, and then pulled her close to crush his lips to hers. She didn't fight him. She couldn't fight him. Instead, she hated him. But she melted into his arms, not wanting him to stop, and at the same time, her stomach was churning. She wished he would have hit her back.

"It's a shame, really," he sighed. "There's so much more to you than you realize." Sad eyes flicked away before resting back on hers. "I was hoping to show you."

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. "I'm not exactly princess material, I know that, but I will go to the ends of the earth to learn what I must, to make him proud."

"Don't sell yourself short, Fin. You have more in your little finger than most budding royals." His hands came from nowhere to hold her face, his eyes daring her to pull away. "You bend a knee to no one, and you fear nothing. You never give up or give in and yet you'd ignore your own needs and desires for what? Status as a princess? For him? He's not the man for you. You want out of this city? I'll take you away. Anywhere you wish."

 _Please make him stop, please,_ she thought, shuddering inside as she forced her face to remain indifferent. She closed her eyes and reveled in this last touch, the final caress she would let herself enjoy from his hands. "What I am right now is nothing, a nobody. I'm insignificant," she whispered, opening her eyes and halting the tears that wished to escape. "But that will change."

"You are _not_ insignificant! Never say that. Never."

"You don't know anything about me beyond what you _want_ to see. Believe me, I'm not worth your time."

"But you are," he said softly. "And I can see through your attempts to spurn me."

"A quick fuck with one of your whores should cleanse your system of whatever it is you feel for me."

Wincing at her choice of words, he knew the hope of turning this disagreement around was dwindling, but he would not be deterred. "You can't tell me you don't feel the heat between us. Why do you fight it so?"

She ground her teeth together. "Because I _despise you_."

"You're a liar." He brought his hand up to caress her cheek, but she smacked it away without blinking.

"You hold no control over me, Bran."

"Don't I?"

She had no answer.

The cruel woman who stood before him, who made him _feel_ again, didn't even realize that his heart was breaking as she stood there, staring him down. He decided to tempt fate.

"I know you hunger for me. You long for the abandoned kisses, you crave to submit and surrender to my touch." His words drifted through his lips, hushed but filled with intense perception. "You want a man to take your power and choices away from you, to free you. _I_ am that man." He leaned over, trying to look her into her eyes as her anger evaporated, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction; she wouldn't let him see how he'd gotten to her. "You can't ignore me forever, my dear."

"I have to go," she said, her eyes never meeting his. "Sebastian is waiting."

 _This can't be the end..._

Was she on her way out of his life before she even understood she _was_ his life? If that were the case, he had no one to blame but himself.

She turned and walked away, missing the wretched look on Bran's face as he grabbed the present she'd forgotten. He could've shouted to her, or ran after her with the gift, but keeping it afforded him the possibility of returning the tigers to her another time.

Stepping out from behind the tent, he watched her figure slowly being swallowed up by dusky shadows, and he sighed.

She would avoid him now, going back to her life of daily bloodshed and nightly prayer with Vael. Days would come and go, but he was confident the memory of _this_ day would be forever emblazoned in her mind. And he was not going allow her to slip through his fingers so easily.

"You _will_ find your way back to me, Finola. And if you take too long…." His eyes dropped down to the box he was clutching in his hands. "I will find you."


	4. Saving Grace

Not surprisingly, Bran had been correct in his thinking; Finola had avoided him for months following the celebration in her honor. The new Champion of Kirkwall spent most of her time on the windfall of jobs she had been offered, traveling the width and breadth of the Free Marches. Gone for weeks at a time, Bran had only caught glimpses of her when she strolled through Hightown on Vael's arm. Sometimes he would see her at the Keep when she met with Knight Captain Cullen to discuss the animosity between the First Enchanter Orsino and Knight Commander Meredith. Finola would smile sheepishly at Bran and give a little wave before disappearing into the shadows again. It was discouraging, to say the least.

A year had passed since Bran had given her the pair of tigers she'd forgotten. He was ready to march to her home and shove them into her hands. A chance encounter, in a place he least expected to find her, had changed his plans.

Alone on a fact-finding mission one evening, Finola bumped into Bran at the Blooming Rose, literally, almost knocking him off his bar stool. Not surprised by his appearance in the brothel, she laughed at her clumsy slip and sidled up to him, offering to buy him a drink as an apology. She listened with wide eyes as Bran regaled her with mocking tales of the Templars and their increasingly fractious relations with Orsino and the mages of the Circle. They reacquainted themselves for two solid hours, his eyes rarely leaving her steady gaze. She hadn't realized how much she missed his company until then. As the night ended, he asked her to stop by his house for a drink some time. She politely declined, but not for long.

Their periodic conversations over tea and biscuits soon became monthly, then weekly as time allowed. She didn't think much of it. Bran remained proper, never touching her, never veering into inappropriate territory. She was ready to settle back into their comfortable, casual friendship, ignoring the intimate moments they had shared the previous year.

And so it went on for weeks. Finola would visit Bran and tell him of her latest conquests in the trenches, and Bran would tell her of his latest conquests in bed.

The day Finola returned from an extended trip to the Deep Roads, she found herself at Bran's once again. She was hungry, exhausted, and depressed. Nevertheless, she still gave him a full account of their mission, and he was held spellbound by her tale.

A Grey Warden had gone missing in the Deep Roads, and Finola was hired by his sister to search for him. Anders had accompanied her, of course, as did Sebastian and Fenris. Darkspawn and ogres plagued them at every turn until they finally happened upon the Warden, Nathaniel Howe. Every Warden in his team had died, all except Bethany, Finola's sister.

"Bethany walked away and didn't look back. I think she hates me." She looked at Bran, her gaze filled with uncertainty. "Was I so wrong to keep her alive?"

"Of course not," he said, sitting down next to her on the couch. "You did the right thing under the circumstances."

Bethany had greeted her sister coolly at first, warming only as they said their goodbyes. Guilt racked Finola to the core. She had thought saving her sister from a tainted death was the best course of action four years ago. In reality, it seemed Bethany would have preferred to die than spend her days in subjection to the Wardens. All she had to look forward to now was a lonely death in the Deep Roads of Orzammar in twenty years.

"I don't think I'll ever see her again." Finola closed her eyes as her head tipped back to rest on the back cushion of the couch.

"Maybe you can travel to Amaranthine and see her one day," Bran said, optimistically. "Spend some time there and get to know one another again."

"Being a Grey Warden means leaving everything behind, your friends, your family… your whole existence before joining them. I have no place in her life anymore."

"Surely they wouldn't turn you away if you showed up?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "It seems I've miscalculated every important decision I've ever made."

Bran pushed her arm hard enough to make her tip sideways. "Hey!" Her head jerked up. "What was _that_ for?" She reached out and swatted him back, curious about the arrogant smile beaming in her direction.

"You've grown so morose this last year, Fin dear. I'm convinced the absence of my daily musings has caused your extended ennui."

"You may be right." She shrugged lazily.

"I am always right. Therefore, I shall endeavor to rid you of the tedium that is sapping the life from you." Her melancholy was unacceptable, and annoying. "You know, Fin, I could make some enquiries about your sister's whereabouts, maybe find out if she would be within travelling distance for you to visit her."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would." Why was she surprised by his offer? Bran could only quirk his lip. "I'm not making any promises, but I do have some connections. In fact, I happen to know a high-ranking Grey Warden by the name of Stroud. He may be able to help."

"Stroud? He was the Warden I met in the Deep Roads. Anders knew him and convinced him to recruit Bethany. Maker, Bran, do you think…?"

"It's worth a try." Bran walked to his desk and took out a parchment from the drawer. "I'll draft a letter tonight." He placed it on top as a reminder.

"I'm sorry I forgot the gift you gave me that day," she blurted. Perched on the table next to her was the newest addition to her carved tiger collection. She glanced at it and smiled. "You know, Bran, I _do_ regret not seeing you very often the last year. I was… so busy."

 _And so stubborn._ "What's done is done. I'll see to it that we make up for lost time."

Holding the tiger in her hand, she growled at it playfully, baring her teeth. "Tell me, Bran, why are you so nice to me when I can be such a bitch?"

"True, you _can_ be uncommonly rude at times." He fought a smile and failed.

"You don't have to agree so readily, jerk."

"I know what lies beneath your bluster, Fin. I've been there for the highs and the lows these last years, and many things in between. Your friendship is worth more to me than… well, you are very dear to me. Never doubt it."

"I have to admit your amusing conversations have been my saving grace many times, Bran. You're a special man… to me."

She looked dangerously close to tears, and although his heart warmed at her admission, he thought it best not to push further.

"Any more drivel and I may shed a tear." He picked up a small box from the table. "How would you like a truffle? I bought some this morning and thought I'd share them with my favorite blonde."

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes! Toss me one."

" _Toss_?" he said, appalled, yet smiling. "My dear, these are the finest confections in all of Kirkwall. I will not throw them as if they were a pair of dirty socks."

She laughed at his haughty posturing, her chuckles growing louder until she held her side and doubled over. She couldn't stop, and could barely speak. "You are the most…ridiculous man… I have ever known!"

He watched her as she laughed, gazed at her as if she were a newly found treasure. She was quirky and appealing all at once. He hated clichés, but this was one instance where nothing else would suffice. She _was_ an unexpected ray of sunlight in an otherwise dreary day, not to mention delightful as the first flower of spring. And at that moment, she was as beautiful as the day was long.

He had made her happy, made her laugh. It was a good day.

* * *

Bran's finger traced over the egg-shaped mark on her neck. " _Another_ scar?" he asked, furious the apostate hadn't healed her as he should have.

"What?" She stood with arms and legs akimbo in Bran's sitting room. "Am I ugly now, like a mabari who's seen one too many fights? Should I start wearing a darkened veil to hide my face from small children?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Fin. You are as lovely as ever, in my mind at least," he smirked. "I'm only angry Anders didn't take care of you soon enough to alter the manner in which your wound healed. You are their leader, after all."

"It was a brutal fight, and others needed healing before me," she said softly as she stared at the floor. "Especially Sebastian."

"Bloody pansy, he is."

"I've asked you not to speak of him that way," she chided, twiddling her thumbs.

"Why must I stop expressing my resentment towards the man? I can only imagine what he says about me. Nothing pleasant, I'm sure."

"I defend you, just as I do him," she stated firmly. "Besides, I'm pretty sure if you took him on, you'd be the pansy in that scenario."

"Bah! He's a self-centered ass. I can't begin to understand why you would waste your time pursuing a man who only wants Andraste as his bride."

"Have an opinion? Maker, Bran, maybe it was a mistake for me to think we were beyond this kind of crap."

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry." He threw a crumpled parchment onto his desk and took a deep breath. "Just… stop mentioning his name."

"So, who's the whore of the month at the Rose?" she asked, plopping down on the couch. "Oh, I know! The elf with the long auburn hair, right?"

"Interested in a tumble with her?" he said indifferently. "I believe her appointments are backed up a few weeks though." He picked up a goblet from a side table and drank some water.

"When is yours? I could tag along," she said, her voice calm yet confident. "It would be fun, don't you think?"

"You're not serious… are you?" _Oh, I'll play this game, you wicked temptress._

"Of course I am. And why not? I might as well pay for it since I can't seem to get it for free."

"Finola Hawke, I do believe you've shocked me." With her head buried in a book, he couldn't make out her expression. "As it happens, I have an appointment with her tomorrow evening. Are you game?"

"I… yes. I'll meet you there," she said, idly flipping through the book, careful not to look in his eyes.

He went around the back of the couch and leaned over to whisper in her ear. "She likes it a bit… rough. You won't mind some scattered bite marks, a few scratches here and there, will you?"

"Are you kidding?" she scoffed and tossed the book aside. "You've seen some of my scars, Bran. Do you honestly think I can't handle a little roughhousing?"

"Hm." His lips inched closer to her, his breath warm and minty. "There is also the question of the unique gadgets and magical tonics she insists on using." Wearing a scandalous smirk, he sped around the couch to watch her reaction. "Do you have an opinion on nipple clamps and phalluses shaped like fish? Thumbs up or down?"

"Oh, I think they're quite delightful," she said, silently cursing the spontaneous hot flush creeping to her cheeks. "What's a little pain when the there's so much pleasure to be had?"

"You, my dear, are so full of shit I can smell you over here." _Maker, no more of this talk, or I may need to change my trousers._

With her head down, her eyes rolled up to look at him. "Yeah, well, someday I'll go to the Rose for my own pleasure, and then you won't be able to poke fun at me." She stood and poured a glass of water for herself, sipping as her heart raced. "But… nipple clamps? Sounds painful."

"Ah, Finola dear. I am of the opinion that you would enjoy some naughty delights followed by a good spanking. But that's _my_ favorite fantasy, so…."

"Really, Bran." She sucked in a breath. "Stop it."

"What? I'm not lying about my daydreams," he affirmed. "And your innocent blush doesn't fool me either. I'd be more than happy to explain the finer points of role-play. You need only ask."

She stood and stepped forward a bit, gaining a small amount of confidence. Pinning him with a glare, she said, "Never."

"Never say never, Champion."

Finola licked hers lips, her mouth as dry as if she had just ate a handful of sand. "So, do you… ah, forget it. I have a meeting to go to." As she walked toward the door, she stopped, sensing his presence right behind her. _Since when is he so stealthy?_

"Do I what?" he said quickly. "Really have an appointment with her?"

"No… no, I was going to ask if you have," she paused, no way out of this one. " _Are_ you going to see her?" The look on her face was… intriguing. Was she jealous?

"I've never lied to you, Finola, about anything, personal or otherwise." He didn't want to be dishonest with her, but at that moment, he wasn't sure if the truth would be helpful, or hurtful. "I do plan to see her tomorrow."

"Well, be careful then," she said, a flash of indignation lit in her eyes. "Don't let her near your face with anything sharp."

"If you asked me to, I would gladly change my plans to spend time with you."

"Ha! Far be it for me to interfere with your _needs_ , Bran."

A hint of regret surfaced at the displeasure he saw in her gaze. Then again, she hadn't shown any interest in him lately. He moved to block her departure. She stiffened and tried to step to the left, but he just grinned and stepped to his right. He left her no choice but to go in the opposite direction again.

"It's just a way to pass the time, Fin. Your company would be far more desirable."

Blowing out an exasperated breath, she yanked the door open, craning her neck to look at him over her shoulder. "Too bad for you then." The door slammed shut.

Bran's fingers came to rest on his chin, scratching thoughtfully. "A very interesting reaction," he said to himself. "I shall have to think on this."

* * *

"I killed Anders." Bran could hardly believe what he was hearing. "I killed my friend, my healer, in cold blood."

"You… you did?" He sighed. Letting her continue would be agonizing for him, but he knew she needed to free the pent up emotions causing her to shudder. "Fin, you had no other choice."

"Didn't I? I could've let him go, let him find his own way and face up to his crimes. But they all demanded blood. Sebastian shouted at me to kill him, Fenris too, and Anders just sat there, on a fucking crate, staring. He wouldn't even look at me. He said he knew he had to die and that he was grateful it would be me killing him. _Grateful!_ Maker, Bran, it was surreal."

"Many defenseless people were killed by his actions," he asserted. "Blood for blood. It is the way of the people."

"Maybe so, but I didn't hear anyone else offering to do it." Her trembling hand came up in the space between them, and she stared at it. "I had the knife in my hand and he told me to just get it over with. I looked at it, and it was as if I were seeing the hand of a demon. You know what I said to him?"

"Fin, you don't have to relive this. Let me make you some tea and get you into a hot tub."

"Too much for you? It was for me."

"No, no." He moved a little a closer, allowing his thigh to touch hers, hoping his closeness was somehow comforting. "Tell me."

"I stabbed him in the back, like he was a recreant soldier fleeing the field. I couldn't even say his name. I only said 'sorry', like I'd accidentally stepped on his toe or spilled his drink."

"I know you have real reasons to cause you to feel this way, but your actions were the result of an apostate gone mad. One guilty man paid for the lives of the innocents who were turned to dust in that explosion. There is no fault in your actions."

She continued, his words not making sense in her mind yet. "I can't even tell you how many mages and templars I killed. It's all a blur, a gory, disgusting blur. Orsino turned into this… _thing_ , with the arms and legs of innocent mages sticking out of it, a giant ball of limbs and blood. And Meredith… Maker, I felt as crazy as she was."

"I'm so sorry, Finola. I wish… Maker, I wish anyone but you had to experience those things."

Still staring blankly, she continued. "When I left the courtyard, people were cheering, like it was some kind of victory. Sebastian, Varric, and even Aveline were slapping each other on the back. I suppose they were just happy to get out alive, but… I couldn't stand to be near them anymore. I just kept walking." She looked at Bran. "I'm sorry to bother you with all this."

"I would never feel put upon by you, of all people." A gentle hand came to rest on her arm. "The blast from the Chantry shook my house, and I thought you might have been hurt, or worse. I'm glad you came to me, for my own selfish reasons, I suppose."

"The Maker's wrath will come down on me. I know it, Bran. I'm practically guaranteed a spot in the Void now, next to demons and darkspawn," she sighed. "Maybe that's where I belong."

"Don't you dare say that, Fin. Nothing could be further from the truth."

She shook her head. "Varric once told me only the virtuous die young."

"Then we shall both live forever."

A small laugh escaped her. "Speak for yourself, Wyndham."

He wanted to say everything would be all right, but platitudes never helped before. A foolish thought ran through his head, the image of a mage casting a spell so he could magically absorb Finola's torment. "I can't honestly say that I know how you feel, but I want to help in any way I can. If you want to cry, or scream, or even hit me, go right ahead."

"I don't have the strength to lift my hands, tempted as I am to beat you."

He smiled at that. It was a good sign she wasn't lost to her grief yet. "Maybe you should rest, sleep. Do you want to be alone? I can go fix you something to eat, or-"

"No!" she cut him off, tightening her grip on his hand. "Don't leave me, Bran. I don't even feel like crying. I'm just so fucking tired."

"Come closer then. Rest your head on me." She tried to smile at him, but even her lips refused to move. Curling up next to him, she nestled closer and put her head down on his chest, pleased to breathe in the sandalwood scent on his shirt. With calming strokes, he smoothed his hand down her hair and she entwined her fingers in his other hand.

"You're so good to me. I don't deserve a friend like you, Bran."

Within moments, he heard her soft purring and felt her breaths become shallow as she drifted to sleep.

"Yes, you do." He pressed a soft kiss to her head, whispering. "It is I who is undeserving of you _,_ my beloved Finola _._ "

* * *

He heard a loud knock and the door flung open before Bran could reach it. He couldn't catch his breath and clear his head fast enough to discern what the look on her face meant, but judging by her enthusiasm, he knew she had a plan. Finola lunged for him, throwing her arms around his neck, and pulling him to her.

The lips crushing his were secondary to the groping hands that tore at his shirt and squeezed his backside with bruising force. Before he knew what had come over him, the love he always felt when near her washed over him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and gave in to the hot assault on his mouth.

She was content to kiss and hold him, standing in the middle of his foyer, occupying her mind and her mouth to keep from crying. The last few days seemed a blur to her now: the jovial banter with Sebastian, the frustration, the loneliness she felt as he rode away. She tried to push aside the reminders of every yesterday, to live solely in the moment. It was dangerous, probably a mistake. But she wanted to make this night the most perfect mistake she had ever made.

The tension mounted and their pulses raced. Soon, she realized what they were doing was not nearly enough. She stopped to breathe, and think.

"Well, I don't think I have _ever_ had a finer greeting than that, Fin."

"I want you. Now. Take me to your bed." Her voice was low and insistent, and Bran saw the desire smoldering in her eyes.

His nose wrinkled and he stepped back, the smell of ale on her breath not a pleasant one. "Were you drinking with blood mages? I'm quite certain you're possessed by a demon at the moment."

"What? Bran, I'm asking you to… to, you know… have sex with me. Why are you acting so blasé?"

"You're drunk."

"You'd bed one of your trollops if they were drunk. And I'm not drunk, damn it!"

"You are not like them. And you _are_ drunk. So no matter how much I'd like to have my way with you, I will not take advantage of this situation."

"I'm not so drunk that I'm confused about what I want, and I want you."

"And Vael? Where is he?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Gone north for a while, the stupid ass."

"I see. So you're looking for a substitute tonight."

"After all your overtures, when I am finally agreeable to sleeping with you, you won't take me? Why don't you want me?"

"Oh, Finola, I want you. Maker knows I've wanted you for years, but what you're asking…." He almost stuttered, cursing himself silently for the slight crack in his voice. "I would prefer you were sober, as well as willing. This… this would be a mistake."

"Kiss me again and then we'll see if it's a mistake. If it feels wrong to you, I'll… go home."

"You're tempting me, woman, and… Damn it, Finola! I _will not_ sleep with you, not tonight. If you still feel the same way tomorrow, come back to me… sober."

Her expression went from expectant to dejected within a few seconds "Can't I at least stay here? I can't bear going home to that lonely house tonight."

"I'd prefer you to stay here when you have your wits about you."

"I have my wits, you idiot!"

"Not all of them, I'm afraid." He stepped back further and looked her. "You're a mess, my dear. Not only drunk but… a little grimy as well."

She managed a slight chuckle as her anger began to wane. "Then draw me a bath and _afterward_ we can get down to business."

"Finola, what has come over you? As you say, I've made my interest in you apparent for several years. What has changed that you'd seek to fall into my arms all of a sudden?"

"I just want some… I want to be close to someone, to experience what it's like." She had wanted to be coy, but it wasn't working. Closing her eyes, she let out a breath, trying to relax. "You want me. I want you. What's the problem?"

"What's the problem?" he repeated in disbelief. He shook his head. "The problem is I want you for more than one night. I want you _every_ night."

"Come on, just take me now, take me and claim my innocence. Please, you owe me this favor."

"I _owe_ you? How is that?"

"I've kept your secrets. I'm sure Cullen would be interested to know of particular information you've leaked to your whores in the throes of passion." She was grasping at straws now, aware she was probably the only person in Kirkwall to know his secrets, but that didn't stop her. "Not to mention your association with a certain mage at the Circle," she said, her lips set into a slight frown.

"You don't actually want to play this game with me, do you? Remember, _Champion_ , I've kept the skeletons in your closet buried too." _She must be drunk to say this to me._

"Oh, _fine_. Look, Bran, I'm offering myself to you, free of charge… as well as disease. Wouldn't it be nice to be with a woman in your _own_ bed, no vermin to crawl out in the dark and scuttle across your sheets?"

"Your seduction skills are rather rusty, my dear." He reached into a pocket and unfurled a piece of parchment. A small green leaf was folded in half and he handed it to her. "Here, chew this. Your breath could knock over a dragon."

"Please, Bran," she begged, popping the mint in her mouth. "I don't want to be a pure, virginal woman any longer. I'm pathetic, never having lain with a man before… at my age!"

"And you want me to be your first? Tonight? No, that is out of the question."

She made a face and crossed her arms. "…such bullshit," she cursed under her breath. "Suddenly you're a gentleman? That's a shame. Now you'll never know what it feels like to lie in my arms, naked against my flesh." She spun around to head for the door and stumbled over her foot.

He grabbed her by the arm, steadying her, his eyes boring into hers. "That is not say I don't want to feel you in my arms, naked or otherwise."

"What are you saying then?" she asked, pulling away. "You would want to… kiss me and hold me and nothing more?"

"Perhaps. Or we could test the waters. When was the last time you were intimate with a man?" Biting her lip, she looked away. "That long? Well, I could be convinced to… help you with the frustration you must be experiencing."

"And you'd like nothing in return? That's crazy."

"I'm not so self-absorbed that I can't handle a little frustration if I pleasured you and got nothing in return."

"What do you have in mind?" she asked innocently, looking over his shoulder at nothing in particular.

With his hands, he reached out to palm her cheeks, his fingers demanding she look at him, and she obeyed. "Have you had someone use their mouth on you, bringing to the edge with mere flicks of a tongue?"

"No, I… I haven't. That seems… unsanitary."

"It's not at all," he laughed. "Believe me, Fin, once you've had the best, you may not even want to have sex. Most women seem to prefer my methods, and I'm sure my skills will not disappoint _you_ either."

"And if I agree to this, where would you want me? Positioned, that is... I mean in what room! Ach, I'm going to stop talking now."

A devilish grin crossed his face. Bran was enjoying her fretfulness far too much. He took her hand in his. "Finola, do not worry so much. It's all perfectly natural, as well as fun. Come. We'll go to my bed chambers where it's private and warm."

"No, I… I'm not sure I can." She dropped to the couch. "Maker, I'm so pitiful. I don't know what I'm thinking anymore. I come here and lead you on, acting knowledgeable and ready for such things and… I'm just a bungling fool," she said dropping her face into her hands.

"Finola, do not be ashamed, not with me. We don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with. Your company is pleasant enough."

"No wonder you go to the Rose."

"What do you mean?" he asked, giving her a dubious look that made her want to sink through the floor.

"It's easy. No one there cares what you've done before or what you indulge in while you're there." Pouting a little, she swiped at an unruly lock of hair.

"I've never judged your lack of experience. In fact, I think it's rather admirable, waiting for the right person to share yourself with, even though I don't agree with your choice of men."

"Sebastian is no stranger to the _pleasures of the flesh_ , as he calls it. I'm sure I can't live up to his expectations."

"Why would you worry about that? If he truly loved you, your innocence would make no difference. In fact, I should think your virginal status would be akin to fucking Andraste herself."

She let go a chuckle despite the lingering annoyance she felt."Such blasphemy, Seneschal Bran."

"If Vael has a problem with it, and I'm sure he does not, then he isn't worthy of you." Her mouth dropped open and she began to laugh again. "And what is so funny?"

"You do realize you may have just ruined _your_ chances."

"Fin, I want you to be happy, and it pains me to say this, but if Vael is who you want in the end, I would never stand in your way. However, that doesn't mean I won't try to change your mind now and again."

Her body ached in all the wrong places, and she couldn't shake the persistent desire to reach out and touch him. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend as if her life were ordinary and uncomplicated. But it wasn't.

"You and I have been friends a long time, Bran. Although I'm not sure how I've withstood you so long," she said, smiling. "But during all those years, I tried _not_ to see you as a desirable man. Then… the day you gave me the tigers, you said _you_ were the man who could take my power and choices from me, to free me." She swallowed the fear that wanted to stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. "Do you still believe you can do that?"

"More than ever."

"Show me how then," she whispered, her trembling hand reaching out to caress his cheek. "Free me, Bran."

She smiled as he framed her face with his hands, and she leaned into his palms.

Resistance was futile.

"You are so... frustrating. And beautiful."

He drew her lips closer, his eyes holding hers, allowing their breaths to mingle. As she settled her palms on his chest, she felt the pounding of his heart. He licked her bottom lip and she moaned as he parted his lips, holding her face more firmly.

She touched his tongue with the tip of hers and then withdrew a little, teasing, but searching for more. Her tongue chased his, playing and exploring until he would no longer be teased. Their tongues tangled in a heated dance so sensual her body ignited and burned. He tasted of mint, and his warmth radiated onto her. She melted into his embrace.

Probing deeper, he claimed her mouth with urgency and drew her closer, demanding more. He slipped his hands under her and picked her up, settling her on his lap.

"You're giving in, abandoning your fears," he whispered, and covered her mouth with a sweet kiss.

"I am." With her nose next to his cheek, she inhaled, drawing in the heady scent of sandalwood and musk.

With each beat of her heart, and every stroke of his tongue, she slid further back on the couch, his body pressing her down. He groaned, and dimly she realized he was as affected as she was. His mouth was delicious, pouring warmth into her. She drifted, dizzy with a fiery passion as he explored her mouth. He withdrew the barest breath away, and she sighed in disappointment, but he immediately placed his lips on her jawbone and nipped at her skin.

She jerked with surprise and delight. Her breathing sped up as his mouth moved to her ear, where he traced delicate whorls with his tongue. Her hands came up to grab his head, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, held him tighter.

His head spun, his senses filled with her. _Perfection._

Lips parted and foreheads rested together as they panted. Arousal had flushed his face, and when he lifted his head, she shivered at the lust in his eyes.

He took her hand in his, drawing it to his face. Her eyes widened as he kissed each fingertip. Slowly, he took a finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around, nipping with his teeth. Her eyes fluttered as a moan escaped her lips.

"Tell me something about yourself, Fin, something no one else knows," he said, his voice even and cool even though she could see the lust in his eyes.

"Right _now_?"

"Indulge me," he said with a disarming smile.

"…your timing, Bran," she sighed. "But _I'm_ the frustrating one, right?" Smirking as she shook her head, she stared off for a moment. "Well, I suppose I can tell you this one thing." Her eyes narrowed on him.

"I'll not laugh, if that's what you're worried about."

"You'd better not," she threatened with a jab to his arm. "Well, when I was younger, I thought the sun and the moon were the same thing." For a moment, she waited for a laugh, but it never came. "I believed the moon was the sun when its fire had gone out at night."

"How adorable," he drawled. "But that is not so surprising, Fin. Unless the facts have only dawned on you recently."

She punched his arm. "I was… well, I'll just say I believed that up until a shamefully late age."

"And how did you learn the truth?"

"My brother, Carver. He teased me for days, told all of the other children. It was horrible. I hated him for that. I…."

He could sense another confession on the tip of her tongue. "Go on, Fin."

"I think I hated him right up until the moment he died. Carver was often cruel to me, poking fun at my height, and calling me names like 'beanpole'. I was rather awkward as a young girl. Graceless," she said, looking down at her hands twisting in her lap. "Carver was very popular with the others. A born leader. Children followed him everywhere, acted on his every command, even if they knew they would get into trouble." A small smile came to her lips. "Sometimes Bethany would launch a little fireball at him, and he'd leave me alone for a couple days, but then he'd be right back at it." Her head jerked up. "And I was the older sister! It was… humiliating. When he died, I didn't even cry. It was poetic justice in my mind. I wanted to laugh at his rotten luck, but my mother was so overwrought. I know she blamed me, right up until she died too."

Sitting in silence as she rubbed her eyes, Bran's heart broke for her, imagining Finola as a gawky young girl, the target of hurtful barbs. "I hope you kicked his ass a few times when you were older."

"Only a few," she said, despondently. "Anyway, I think… I still hate him, even now. What does that make me, hm?"

"Human," he said softly. "But you need to let the blame go, Fin."

"Easier said than done." She straightened and looked into his eyes. "Well, now you know two of my secrets. I guess you're feeling pretty smug about now."

"Not smug," he said. "Just pleased you've confided in me. I know you trust me now."

Eying him with vague irritation, she murmured, "I never said I didn't."

"You never said you did either. So believe me when I say having sex tonight would be a mistake."

"I don't agree, but neither will I argue with you."

"Good. You may stay here tonight if you like. I have a lovely bedchamber with a balcony overlooking the courtyard. You can watch the sun rise in the morning. I'll be in my room next door."

"Stay with me, Bran? Please?"

He eyed her, tilting his head as he considered. "You must promise not to tempt me with your charms."

"Charms," she said, looking away. She pulled off her shoes and wiggled her toes. "More like sophomoric fumbles."

"Endearing all the same." He stared at her wistfully and she froze, her emotions growing stronger as Bran reached for her hand. Fingers entwining with his, he didn't miss the shiver that caused her hand to tremble. "Follow me."

"Why hasn't anyone caught you and married you yet?" she asked as she paced next to him.

"I'm not so easily caught. Besides, I have no intention of marrying any time soon."

"No? That's unfortunate, Bran. I wish you were happier, living in that so called state of wedded bliss everyone talks about. Does it exist, I wonder?"

"It does."

"Oh, I… I'm sorry. I forgot you were married before." Her eyes went to his somber face as he gazed past her. She stepped forward, her movement catching his attention. "Can't you find it once again then?"

"Someday, perhaps. We shall see," he said as he led her through the hall. "It's late, and you look as tired as I feel." He stopped in front of an open door. "This is it." He watched her as she stepped into the room, her mouth slightly agape.

"It's lovely, Bran." Surprised by the feminine decoration and style, she turned to him with a quizzical expression. "Did you decorate yourself?"

"Of course not. This chamber was my wife's leisure activity room. She read and sewed in here, arranged flowers, sometimes until late in the night. I'd often find her asleep on the bed, her limbs half on and half off, clothes in a disarray. Then I'd carry her out…." he trailed off, his gaze distant.

"Oh," she whispered softly. "Are you sure you want me to sleep here? I don't want you to be… uncomfortable."

"She would've liked you, I think." Finola looked at his shoulder simply because she needed something to do, and she flicked an imaginary speck away. "Don't worry, Finola, I'm fine. I have fond memories of this room, but they are just that. Memories."

"If you say so." She watched Bran walk toward a large armoire standing against the wall.

He pulled out a drawer and grabbed a long nightshirt, tossing it to her. "You may wear this tonight. You can change behind that screen," he said, pointing across the room.

In silence, she disappeared behind the screen, and his mind reeled with thoughts of her nakedness. The light from the wall sconce illuminated the room, her silhouette on the panel bathed in muted shadows, and he could just about make out the contours of her body. _Maker's breath, she'll be my undoing_.

Prancing out from behind the screen, Finola skipped to the bed and threw herself upon it with a bounce. "Oh! It's so soft and squishy!"

"Glad you approve." Bran paced forward, coming to a stop at the edge of the bed, and he sat next to her, smiling at her childish giggling. "Should you ever feel the urge to make candles or embroider like a proper lady, you are welcome to pursue your domestic activities here whenever you like."

"Are you making fun of me?" she asked as she slid under the covers and pulled them up to her chin.

"Perish the thought," he said warmly. "Now, move over. I have no interest in cracking my head on this floor in the middle of the night." As she shimmied to the side, he laid down on top of the covers.

"Aren't you going to come under here with me? It's nice and warm," she sang.

"Promise to behave?" She nodded, a shameless smile on her lips. " _Promise_?"

"By the _Maker_. Yes, I promise. Sheesh!" Bran flipped the edge of the comforter over and made to slip under. "Aren't you going to take off your shirt?"

"Hm. I suppose."

As he pulled his shirt over his head, her eyes widened. Finola had assumed he was in good condition judging by the feel of his body when they embraced. She never imagined his arms and shoulders to be as taut as they were, his muscles lean and hard.

"You're gawking at me, Fin."

"Oh, I just had no idea you were so… well-developed."

"Yes, we diplomatic types do tend to be rather feeble and pale. But I have some pursuits requiring moderate strength and endurance. I thought you knew that."

"I guess I never thought about it. I know you ride and sometimes go hawking. But still, Bran. You have an impressive physique."

A smug grin appeared, one eyebrow raised. "Should you decide you'd like to see more of my endowments tomorrow, I will humbly oblige."

Her hands crept out from under the covers and smoothed across his chest. "Bran," she whispered. "Kiss me again. Just a kiss."

"One kiss?" Her wrists were pinned with rapid speed, her back fully pressed against the mattress. Bran loomed over her with a cocky grin as he saw the desire on her face. "It will be a kiss you will never forget."

His hot breath caressed her cheek, and she couldn't help the small smile as he leaned in and captured her lips. She melted into the kiss, feeling his arms go around her and holding her close. Every thought she had vanished as his body pressed on top of her own. His seductive kisses made her groan wantonly, a sound he had once thought he would never hear.

She laid her head on his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't mind. He didn't. In fact, he enjoyed her warm breath on his shoulder. As he held her tightly, she looked up at him wide-eyed, and he looked back at her with the same expression. Running his hands along her hips, he examined her face, and he could see the fatigue, the utter exhaustion as she struggled to stay awake. He thought he'd better make a move soon.

Her nightshirt was scrunched up at her waist, and her breasts heaved with what he could only assume was a strong desire, coupled with that damn fatigue. With caution, he slowly lifted his hand and squeezed her breast through the fabric of her nightgown.

"Oh, my… what…?" she whispered. Was she talking in her sleep?

"Yes?" he breathed in her ear, amused.

She didn't answer, but moaned. Maker, but he loved the mewls and whimpers he heard as he pinched her nipples. He slid his hands down to stroke her, and not even a slight protest came from her lips.

"Touch me, Bran… please," she said with hooded, sleepy eyes. She heard him take a deep breath when he touched her, his fingers gliding along her supple skin. She arched under his caress, and he moved closer to his goal. Finding her more than damp, he slid a finger inside her, and she buried her face in his shoulder to muffle a cry. Her leg trembled against his, and she felt his smile on her cheek. He slipped another finger into her, and she bucked up, wanting more. Needing more.

She moaned, but was silenced by forceful lips on hers. Deep into the kiss, another finger joined the rest, and he twisted them. A deep, ragged hum went from her mouth to his, sending shivers through him. Squirming a little, a pleasant sensation bloomed in her stomach as he pumped his fingers in and out. Increasing his speed, she thrust against his hand with a loud moan. He stopped and withdrew his fingers, giving her a worried look.

"Are you all right?" Despite the pure lust held in her eyes, he waited. "Shall I make you come then?"

"Mmph… you'd better."

One finger, and then a second, filled her, which brought forth little gasps from her lips. He watched in silent delight as she responded to his touch, jerking her hips against his hand. He was tempted to slow down, to have her beg, but thought better to leave that entertainment for another time.

She felt her climax begin to quiver and pulse in her belly as his thumb circled and pressed. Bran whispered in her ear, "Come for me, Fin," as he felt her tightening around his fingers, and at hearing his soft command, she was swept away, flying high with release, a squeak of ecstasy on her lips.

Shaking from the power of her climax, her limbs tingled and filled with heat, her head lolling on the pillow. She was wondering if she would be able to walk, should she decide to leave, when his arms wound around her. She stayed in his embrace until she could think. Pulling away from him weakly, she smiled at the sight of his adoring face, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, before resting her head against his shoulder.

He held her as close to him as he could, reveling in the moment. "Was that… pleasing?"

Half-lidded eyes gazed back at him. "It was wonderful. Thank you," she whispered.

"It was an honor, my dear."

"…so tired." Holding her face in his hands, he kissed her one last time before she passed out.

He smiled down at the peaceful face next to him. Finola, his lover _. Lover!_ He could think of her in those terms, at least tonight. Was it a stretch? Absolutely. But…

 _Fuck it. Lover it is._

Sometime during the night, she had slipped away. He woke up alone, cold, missing the warmth of her body next to his. The nightshirt she had worn was folded neatly at the foot of the bed, a scribbled note atop it.

 _Bran,_

 _Contrary to what you might believe, I do not regret this night. But it was a mistake. Hate me if you must, but don't say it to my face the next time you see me._

 _Finola_

"Ah," he sighed, putting the nightshirt to his nose. "Such a foolish woman. But I'll eat my hat if you stay away longer than a day."

* * *

The following night, a knock came at Bran's door. He glowered at it, wondering who was bothering him at such a late hour as he peered out the side window. "Well, well. As predicted," he said under his breath. He watched Finola reach out to knock again, and the thud made him jump, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands began to sweat.

Coming to his house was wrong, and there were plenty of words to describe the boundary she was leaping over, but the desire was there. It had always been there, no matter how many times she tried to fight it. "I know you're in there, Bran!"

Laying his hand on the door, he closed his eyes and could almost feel the warmth of her skin through it. In a fantastical daze, he turned the doorknob and pulled.

"May I come in?" Her gaze was enticing, even though her tone was a bit disagreeable.

He gestured with his hand and she strolled across the threshold with a confident sway in her hips. Looking him up and down, he watched as she circled him, a predatory glint in her eyes. She took one of his hands in hers, the warmth of her touch causing his heart to beat even faster.

"Why are you here?" he said, his usual complacent humor absent.

"About last night…." The distance in his eyes unnerved her. She reached out, her fingers tracing over his cheek. "You think I'm kidding now, don't you?"

"Your note…."

"... impulsive."

His fingers skimmed over the small of her back. "As always."

Her arms wrapped loosely around his waist. "I want to be yours tonight, if you still desire me." Bran's heart clenched at her words, and he kissed her lips, hard, feeling her shiver as she melted against him. "We're in agreement then?" she whispered.

"Let me see…." His hands eagerly moved under her shirt, fingertips brushing against her skin to find her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples. He let out a low growl. "It seems we are."

Her knees weakened with anticipation. Fingers tangled in his hair, her mouth opening in hungry desperation, begging for his impassioned kisses.

"Shall we?" he whispered, nipping at her ear.

She swallowed, her breathing ragged as she stared at him. With a smile, she entwined her fingers with his. "Lead the way."


	5. Under My Skin

The door flew open, a loud thud echoing through Bran's bedchamber as it hit the wall. In a tangle of groping hands and shuffling feet, he pushed Finola against the door, kissing her fiercely.

"If you want," he whispered, his lips close to hers, "you can have this every minute of every day."

"We would go broke pretty fast under those conditions."

 _We_ …. "I think it would be well worth it."

She nibbled and sucked on his bottom lip as she undid the buttons of his shirt. Pulling it off eagerly, she never lost the lock on his lips as she threw the clothes to the floor. His hands gripped her waist, then sneaked their way down past the waistband of her pants, his fingertips resting on the edge of her smalls. With sudden force, he plunged one hand down and put a finger into her.

" _Bran_ ," she said breathlessly, her hand caressing his chest as his finger twisted.

Too soon, he pulled his hand out and she grimaced. But her frown disappeared fast as he brought his fingers to his lips and tasted her. A shy smile crept to her lips, her face flushing with burning heat. There was fire lighting in her eyes, but then he saw apprehension as her brows furrowed and she looked away.

"If you're not comfortable," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, "we can wait."

"I _am_ comfortable with you," she whispered back. She felt his breath on her, heard his labored breathing. With him, she was alive and longing for everything he could give, even if it was more than she could handle.

"I want you, Finola, more than I've wanted any woman, but I will respect your every wish, every command."

Finola felt her heart seize, and then melt. Placing her hand on his bare chest, she sighed, looking away. She had fantasized about being with him numerous times, and the moment was now hers for the taking. Would he comfort her if he knew she were frightened? He always had before. As their foreheads rested together, she looked into his eyes. "So you'll stop if I ask you to?" she asked in a barely audible whisper.

Her question gave him pause. Bran's teeth clenched and he fought to hide the fear and disappointment that coursed through him at hearing her words. A smile broke the momentary tension as Bran let his fingers caress her soft cheek. "Of course I will."

Finola let out a sigh of relief before Bran fell silent again. His eyes studied her as he spoke.

"I'm thinking… I have an idea, Fin." Bran's voice was quiet and steady, his warm lips close to her ear, his words a pleasing combination of tender and confident. "Come with me, to the couch by the hearth." He reached out and knotted his fingers with hers, clasping tightly as his thumb soothingly stroked her skin. A small smile turned up Finola's lips as she nodded and squeezed his hand.

Once seated, she leaned back and rested against him, feeling the hardness of his chest on her back, her head settling on his shoulder. The fragrant scent of roses permeated his thoughts as strands of her hair caught in the stubble on his chin, tickling him, reminding him of what this night could bring. Both of them had shifted for comfort before he draped his arm over her, his fingertips stroking feather light caresses up and down her arm. In silence, in the dim shadows of the dying firelight, he heard her breathing slightly quicken.

The night before, he had reveled in the satisfied smile on her face after he made her come, and it was so enchanting, he almost laughed at the thought. He wanted to see that expression again, wanted to see her nose crinkle and her eyes flutter when she tumbled over the edge. But would he?

Cradled in his arms now, he pressed kisses against her temple as he stroked her hair. "I'm sorry," he started, "I shouldn't have rushed." Finola's hand squeezed his arm, silently waving his apology off while her breathing began to even out. Despite telling her everything would be fine, Bran could still feel the tension in her body, see the frustration in her eyes. He held her closer, hugging her body against his while he reflected on her reaction. Fear of the pain was something he could understand, but there was more to her reluctance than a single fear.

The hand on her cheek was soft and reassuring, and she turned to face him. A torn fingernail on her pinky found its way to her mouth, and she chewed on it while thinking. _Well… he is the expert. So why am I uptight?_ She had trusted him over the years, trusted in his ability to get her through some of the roughest times she'd ever known. She trusted him with her life, with everything. Moreover, she would be lying if she said he hadn't appeared in her thoughts, her daydreams as well as her nightly fantasies.

"You are an exquisite woman, Finola. Never doubt it. And your innocence is nothing to feel awkward about, not with me." Bran kissed her with a passion void of all pretense. "I want to help you, make you see that… you are an exciting and arousing woman, and your body will respond exactly as it should." Certainly, she had knowledge of sex and its related activities, but Bran wondered if she was rather naive when it came to her own body. He assumed she had touched herself intimately, that she'd had orgasms in the privacy of her own chambers, and maybe he even figured into her fantasies at times. He gently settled her back against his chest, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke. "Close your eyes."

"Bran, I… I don't know... how to…." The desperate, fretful tone in her voice made him tense for a moment, but he ignored his own anxiety, determined to release her from her frustrations. She tried to sit up, but his arms kept her against his body with only a little pressure.

"Will you let me help you then, to guide you toward pleasure?" Finola's hesitation drew out a new reassurance from him. "I will not touch you," he murmured as he placed a sweet kiss on her temple. "I will only whisper in your ear."

"And what are you going to say? Do you mean to… talk dirty to me?"

Ah, she knew him well. He grinned. "Not exactly, no. You _do_ trust me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then do as I say. Close your eyes." Finola obeyed without a word, and Bran felt her body relaxing once again in his arms. "Clear your thoughts. Listen only to my voice." Bran inched his head forward until his lips were almost touching her ear. Tenderly, he picked up her hand, sliding his fingers along hers until he held her index finger. He pressed it to her forehead.

"When I take my hand away, I want you to leave your finger there, between your brows." The sudden loss of his warmth startled her, and she turned to meet his gaze. "Shh, close those lovely blue eyes. I'm right here and there is nothing to fear from me," he assured. She gave him a slight nod and smiled, closing her eyes again and taking a deep breath. He spoke low, his voice calm and sultry. "Now, slowly trace from there, down over your nose, to your lips, so supple and full."

Soft fingertips stroked the skin on her arm, slow and relaxing, soothing. What will it feel like, she wondered, to have him inside her? Would he be gentle as he was now, caressing her to new heights of pleasure? Or would he be aggressive and dangerous, thrusting hard and deep? She wanted to be touching him, and wanted him touching her as well. _What was this exercise all about anyway?_

His soft, sensual voice broke through her musings. "Trace those beautiful lips with your finger… slowly." She did so, letting her nail scratch her bottom lip softly. "Make them wet…" The tip of her tongue peeked shyly through her lips before she stopped for a brief moment. A soft sigh escaped her mouth as she timidly licked the pad of her finger and began to trace her lips again, even more slowly. Bran's mouth went back to her ear. "Yes… like that… slowly…" Finola's body seemed to relax a little more as he continued to talk. "Now imagine my lips close to yours… my breath upon them…." A low sigh sounded as the tip of her finger slid into her mouth and she unconsciously sucked on its pad.

Bran's breath caressed her ear as his words broke the silence. "My lips are now closer… they are meeting yours, tasting you for the very first time." A shy smile lit up her face as she kept her eyes closed. "They are nibbling, licking… claiming your mouth…" His right hand continued to caress her arm languidly, feeling the frustration leaving her body as pleasure began to unfold inside her. Finola's lips glistened in the reddish glow of the firelight, a temptation Bran had to ignore. "Feel the tip of my tongue tracing your lips… before it slides into your mouth to meet yours…" She couldn't fight back another sigh as she pictured the scene in her mind, the end of her tongue visible between her full lips, as if waiting for his. Unaware, Bran licked his lips, his eyes fixed on hers, on the way her white teeth were nibbling the pad of her finger, worrying her bottom lip. "My hands take the place of yours, smoothing over your skin… caressing your neck." Shyly, her hand touched her neck, sliding back and forth easily, the other one still playing with her mouth.

He whispered again. "Slowly, my lips trail down your neck… kissing, sucking, lightly nipping before going back to steal your breath with another kiss." Absently, she nodded, wishing his words would become actions while she rocked her hips slightly. "My fingers move to open the first button of your blouse and kiss your skin." She murmured a "yes" as he let his bottom lip caress the tip of her ear. "I'm kissing you… my tongue massaging yours… while I undo your buttons… my hands running up and down your sides and back."

She squeezed her legs tightly, feeling an answering throb in her core. Chest rising and falling in time with his, she discovered her own hand drifting to slip beneath her shirt. She wanted to touch herself, and nothing was stopping her. Nothing except fear of being exposed, fear of… of what? Wrapped up in his arms, and her own wanton thoughts, Finola thought she might be safe tonight.

Bran fell silent as he watched Finola's hand slip under her shirt, moving up slowly, as if she were enjoying the feeling of her own skin. "Keep going, Bran… _please_." Pressing her hand down, she curved it around her breast, letting out a moan as she shimmied slightly.

Bran fought to control his breathing, desire shooting straight into his trousers as he struggled to snap back to the moment. His lips were dry again, and he had to swallow hard before he could speak. "You're so beautiful, Fin… so … incredibly erotic." Her lips were sucking the tip of her finger as her left hand moved slowly over one breast before it changed to the other. He smiled at her bold move, and let his free hand delicately untie the laces of her pants, careful not to break the spell she'd fallen under. "I pull you into a deep kiss, and lay you on the bed…." Again, she nodded with a smile. He absently held her tighter in his arms, deeply inhaling her perfume. "You're lying on _my_ bed… half naked… your breasts exposed, inviting…." She arched her back slightly, thrusting her breasts up, tempting him similarly to the scene he was whispering into her ear. "I admire your supple breasts... so perfect… begging to be touched…" Her hand moved faster under her shirt. "I'm caressing them, teasing them as you moan… your hands in my hair…"

Bran stopped for a moment, caught in the beauty of what was happening before his eyes. Finola was now lost in a world of her own and pleasure was her only guide. Bran took a deep breath before he continued. "You whimper as I pinch your nipples, twisting just a little, a sweet ache filling you." On cue, her long fingers pinched her nipple while she imagined it was Bran teasing her body so pleasurably. "Yes… you like that sweet pain… my fingers pinching … my mouth nibbling… my tongue swirling around your breasts before dipping lower, tracing over your stomach and past your hips." He laid his hand on hers gingerly, moving it toward her waist, and he slipped their hands beneath the waistband of her breeches. Her eyes flew to his, but his smoldering and reassuring smile eased her bashfulness, charming her. She wasn't sure why he was nonplussed by all this, but it felt natural, sitting with him, his hand on top of hers.

She closed her eyes again. With little guidance from Bran, she guided their hands downward, his moving away, back to caressing her arm. Under her smalls, past the soft curls, she went straight to her heat, wet and yielding beneath fingers that had walked the path before. A long moan escaped her lips as pleasure spiked inside her.

"You're writhing now as I drop kisses along your body… licking and teasing with my tongue, until I reach the soft thatch of hair hiding the silken folds that cover your swollen clit…" Finola's body tensed as her fingers obediently found her clit and teased it briefly. "I lightly brush my tongue over your wetness and you arch into my touch, moaning as I open you and slip my tongue into your core. I taste you then, inhaling your sweet scent, and I want to breathe you in… to taste you all night long." He heard a rumbling hum in her throat as her hand moved in circles, his words flowing through her, caressing her from the inside. A fierce wave of desire overcame him. "Wish I could taste you," he murmured in her ear before he could stop himself. Her hand stopped moving under her breeches and slowly came up to her lips. The tip of her tongue delicately licked the pad of her finger as she let out a moan that caused him to bite back a roar. When her fingers moved towards him, he rushed to suck them. Closing his eyes, he devoured her juices like a starved beast, the taste maddening, driving him wild.

Watching Finola touch herself, taste herself, had made his body throb in response and threatened to snap his self-control. He was torn between continuing to watch her and taking her then and there. This was a challenge unlike any other. The steady tightening of his trousers confined his nearly painful erection like a vice grip. He immediately thought of awful things, people he loathed, the man he wanted to make disappear forever. _Sebastian Vael._ It only helped a little.

As he battled his own desire, she moaned, squirming atop him as the heat radiated down between her legs, throbbing. She had let out all the responses he'd wanted to provoke: breathy sighs and muffled gasps, moans as her hips rocked upward to meet her hand. With his arm securely wrapped around the small of her back and his bare chest pressed against hers, she would have done anything Bran asked of her at that moment, and he knew it.

Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to carry on, his voice hoarse with lust. "Slowly, I glide one hand down over your stomach… toward the wetness dripping between your thighs, begging to be touched. I push in a finger… then another… curling inside you as my thumb circles your clit, pressing and rubbing around your slick heat." The hand at her breast curved slightly as Finola raked her nails over them, her other hand teasing her core. It jerked with each small shake of her body, her legs moving restlessly. Soon her head lolled back, and she mumbled something he didn't notice was his name at first. The rhythm of her hand was almost frantic, but the increase in speed surprised him and he felt the pressure building inside him as well. Trying to stave off the losing battle throbbing in his trousers, he watched her race to finish.

She guided one hand along her stomach and sides, her fingertips leaving goose bumps behind them. She could feel the beat of Bran's heart against her back, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, its warmth against her skin. "My tongue laps at your hot flesh and you gasp, pinching your aching nipples as I push my fingers in and out… feeling how wet you are… how ready you are to come at my command."

She whimpered, her body now moving of its own volition, continuing to deliriously tease itself. "Oh, _Maker_." She squirmed against him evocatively, hoping to feel the cock against her backside twitch, wanting to hear him moan.

"Let go, Finola. Listen to your body… to your needs…" His voice, like liquid heat, warmed her skin. "Come for me, now," he crooned, his voice filled with passion.

She found her clit and pressed her fingertip against it, rotating her fingers. The pleasure built, coiling tighter, intense and penetrating, and Finola whimpered, then moaned. She was panting now, jerking her hips against her fingers as they circled and pressed, sending shockwaves through her whole body. Bran's fingers dug into the couch, holding onto it white-knuckled as he felt his control snapping. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to find his voice as his body struggled for release to the sound of Finola's moans. His voice was now a lustful growl "That's it, sweetheart… let go… come for me."

"Oh…Maker… _oh_ … _Bran…._ "

The sound of her whimpers and moans made him dizzy, his name repeating on her lips, shameless and confident. Despite having his eyes closed, he could see her… in his arms, wantonly touching herself only for him… _Just hold on a little longer…_. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

"Mmm _… Bran… ungh._ " Her head tilted back, thudding against his shoulder, and her back arched as she came with a squeal, her whole body shuddering and shaking.

Watching her shatter, seeing her muscles tremble as she climaxed by her own hand, was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. He held her as she shook, her orgasm washing over her, surging and swelling, tingling and warm, different from orgasms in the past. So remarkably different from the little shivers she had given herself on occasion. She sighed as she slid her hand out of her pants, to rest on top of her belly.

Still spread out before him, trying to slow her breathing, Finola stirred when he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Languid and boneless, she entwined their fingers, squeezing once, her toes tingling and her fingertips buzzing. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, taking a moment to recall how to focus. Her lips twitched at the complacent look on his face. "That was…." She sighed at her loss for words, but her smile grew wider.

"I knew you would be a quick study."

She flipped around and straddled him. "Only because I had the finest teacher," she said modestly, then pulled him to her for a deep kiss, frantic and hungry.

"So," he began with a rakish smile on his lips. "Are you ready for something more decadent?"

She burst out laughing and then met his gaze, kissing him once more. "Thank you, Bran."

Were those tears rolling down her cheeks? The corner of his mouth turned up. "I _know_ those are not tears of regret." She shook her head slightly as he wiped the dampness away with his thumb, smiling at her. Before he could think of more clever words to say, her arms found their way around his neck.

"Kiss me, before I go mad." With that, she pulled him into a breathtaking kiss. It was gentle, like caresses from silk, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. "I think I'm ready for the main course now."

"Oh?" Finola watched as he stood and undid his trousers, dropping them and kicking them out of the way. Her eyes traveled down to see the hardness bulging behind the fabric of his smalls, and he stepped close to her again, grinning.

She looked up at him. "Oh, Bran, how did you not… I mean, weren't you… frustrated?" A curious hand reached out to stroke him as she leaned forward to kiss him again. Bran took her hands before they touched him, raising them up to his lips to place a quick kiss on her knuckles.

"Finola dear, I've never had to work so hard not to come in my life. I was… enthralled by you," he eagerly confessed. He let go of her hands and his fingers flew to her blouse, slowly pushing it back to let the silky fabric caress her skin as it fell to the floor. For a moment, his eyes roamed all over her beautiful body before he pulled her to him. "In the end, it was an unrivaled exercise in self-control," he murmured against her hair.

His hands moved to her waist, and then he brought them lower to grip her hips, pulling her in, and causing his hardness to prod her. The brief, intimate contact made Bran hiss, but before Finola could voice a question, he placed her legs on either side of his hips. Ignoring her look of surprise, he carried her to the bed and then let go, dropping her roughly and smiling at her petulant expression.

Her arms and legs stretched out and bent as she sprawled on his bed. _His_ bed! Bran nearly pinched himself. Countless days and nights were spent dreaming of this moment, and now that it was here, he didn't believe it. His hands were almost shaking with anticipation. He took a steadying breath and crawled onto the bed, hovering on all fours above her.

"I have to kiss you now, Fin. I just need to do it, to confirm you are actually lying here… waiting for me to... to…."

She reached up and caressed his cheek. "You're very sweet, Bran. Maybe no one has ever said that to you, but it's true."

Her hand went to the back of his neck and she pulled him to her. Her kiss was alive with feverish intensity, but just like their first kiss, it didn't take long to fall into a slow, comfortable rhythm; it was exactly what was needed to ease his concern for the activities to come.

"You do realize you'll need to remove your underclothes," he joked when he came out for air.

Despite rolling her eyes dramatically, Finola couldn't prevent the smile that rushed to her lips. "Oh… really?" she joked in turn, but made no move even as Bran grinned at her.

"If you prefer, I can remove them for you," he offered.

"Yes, you do all the work while I relax," she replied with a whisper. "Go on then."

Soft fingertips trailed down her neck, along her sides, slowly creeping toward the loosened laces of her pants. Perched on his knees between her legs, Bran slowly pulled them down as she shimmied to help guide them off.

That was the easy part, for both of them.

He curled a finger around the leg opening of her smalls and gave a slight, inquiring tug. She smiled, wicked and needy. Another finger slid under the fabric and slowly, patiently, he pulled them from her hips, exposing her to him. Eyes on her face, he saw her shiver as he threw the smalls over his shoulder only to have them land directly on the bedpost.

"Nice toss," she giggled. "Lots of practice, I assume." Her tone was lighthearted and playful, but Bran could hear the tension hiding in her voice.

"A lucky throw," he admitted. In truth, she was the first woman he'd taken to his bed in a long time, always opting for the Rose or any other chamber but his own. In his eyes, Finola was the only woman worthy to be here. "Are you all right, Fin? I'm sure you're nervous, but…."

"No, I'm… yes, I _am_ nervous. But it's not you… I just… I just don't like pain," she said, her voice sounding strangled. She had forced herself to finish the sentence, admitting that weakness and undressing her soul, as Bran had undressed her body.

Her divulgence made him grin. "Says the Champion of Kirkwall, who has been at death's door more times than I care to acknowledge. Maybe you should drink some healing tonic then."

"No." She declined vehemently, suddenly fearing her confession would change Bran's mind. "This is a significant rite of passage. And I'm not going to be wimp about it." She gave him a resolute smile. "I promise."

He observed her for a moment before he nodded. "As you wish. I shall not hesitate any longer."

Her long hair fanned out across the pillow, and she let out a stifled moan as he assaulted her neck with ravenous kisses before nipping at her breasts. His hand gripped her backside firmly as she swept his lips into another kiss, one hand grasping at his shoulder, the other threading into his hair. He pulled her closer to him, and frissons of desire shot through her, spreading across her flesh as she felt his erection grind against her thigh.

"You are gorgeous… flawless," he whispered.

"More flattery, hm?" Shaking her head, he saw the faint umbrage in her gaze.

A small, tight knot twisted in Bran's stomach and his breath hitched. "Flattery with no ulterior motive, Fin." The slight annoyance she felt ended when he planted hot kisses down her throat.

He ran his hand across her shoulder, down her arm, moving it to her breast. His thumb flitted across her nipple and it tightened, tingling beneath his touch. She sucked in a sharp breath. Putting his hand behind her neck, he guided her into another kiss while his hands caressed her breasts.

Suddenly, Bran moved down and took a stiff pink nipple into his mouth, nipping at it before swirling his tongue, then moving to do the same for the other. In that moment, she and Bran were all that mattered in the world.

With his hot mouth still locked on her nipple, his hand crept down her body. His nails softly scratched a trail toward the moistened inside of her thighs. The feeling of his long fingers nearing her core caused her eyelashes to flutter, and her breathing grew more ragged. Bran raised his eyes to look at her once more, and his heart gave a start when they met hers. As his fingers touched the wet folds between her legs, he kissed her deeply and realized it had been years since he'd been so close to a woman he actually desired for more than just sex.

Moaning against his ear, Finola's head fell back as two fingers entered her. "More… _please_ …" she begged, rocking her hips toward him and gripping his forearm with brutal strength, nails digging into his flesh. An arousing trail of soft kisses across her chest tingled as she bucked into him. She looked into his eyes and he smirked.

"Tell me you want me." His voice was gentle, but tinged with a demanding tone.

"I do," she croaked out urgently. "I want you." She felt his smile on her cheek, his hardness pressing against her thigh, waiting. Determined to prove her words, her hand slid down his chest and closed shyly around his erection. Bran's body tensed as her fingers began to move over the hot skin. "I want you," she repeated, looking into his eyes. When her thumb slid over the wet slit, he hissed loudly, fighting the now aching need to come. His hand flew to hers, and grabbing it, he moved it away, pinning her to the bed. "Bran?" She looked at him with questioning eyes.

He smiled as he fought to control his body. "It's okay, Fin," he said at last, "but you can't touch me… not right now… I'm too…." His voice trailed off as he battled another pull of desire.

Realization shone in Finola's eyes. "Oh," she uttered, feeling her cheeks burn. "I'm sorry."

Bran silenced her apology with a kiss while he continued to pin her down. "We'll go slowly… for both our sakes."

She gazed at him with a soft expression, took a deep breath, and nodded.

Finola arched her body upward, waiting for him to fill her. A breath he didn't know he'd been holding in fled his lips as he covered her body with his. "It might hurt… you must trust me, Fin," he said, his voice hoarse and bursting with need. "You're older than the average virgin," he began, but was stopped by her glaring eyes.

"Watch what you say about age, old man."

"You know I meant no disrespect," he explained with a smile as he nuzzled her neck. "Besides, you keep an extremely physical and active lifestyle… I wouldn't be surprised if you've already torn some just from your daily activities."

Finola felt a slight relief washing over her. "One can hope…."

He stopped his nuzzling to whisper in her ear. "Do you trust me?"

"Implicitly," she breathed.

"Raise your knees," he commanded, quiet but firm. Powerless to resist his orders, she obeyed. Her new position opened her further, exposed her more, and she took several deep breaths, managing to keep herself calm.

He smiled, and kissed her once more before he released her hands. "Close your eyes."

Bewildered, she looked at him as he bent down and flicked her nipple with his tongue. "Close your _eyes_ ," he repeated, watching her until her lids slowly closed. "Trust me," he commanded again, and he didn't move until she nodded.

"You are so beautiful. I wish you could see yourself right now." He placed a kiss on her knee, sliding his hand down her thigh toward her center. She quivered, and he heard her let out a small sigh, her eyes remaining closed. "…So hot… and so wet." He dipped the end of his finger inside her, wetting it, and then rubbed a slow, tormenting circle around her clit. Assessing her readiness, he considered for a brief moment. "Still, I think we should use some oil. It will enhance your pleasure as well."

Eyes still closed, she nodded again. "You know best."

"I have some right here," he said, reaching into the drawer of his nightstand.

The moment his oiled fingers touched her flesh again, and teased her core, she moaned in agreement. "Oh, yes… I.. _wow_ …."

He watched the woman he loved as he closed his hand around his erection. As soon as his fingers touched it, Bran's hips gave an involuntary jerk and his body shook with the need to pump. Taking a deep breath, he overcame his lust and focused on Finola, welcoming and spread before him. Still trembling, he slowly guided himself into her as he suppressed a moan. As soon as his cock crossed the threshold of her core, Finola wrapped her legs tightly around him, pulling him into her, pushing just as eagerly.

With a sudden quick thrust, he was fully inside her, and they both released a long held breath. There was pain, not like that of an arrow to her shoulder, but an internal ache, sharp and straining, that briefly threatened her resolution. But Finola expected it, and she swallowed her cry of pain and gasped as he slipped deeper into her. Unable to restrain the storm of feelings raging within her, she couldn't fight back the tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. Ashamed, she tried to voice an apology, but Bran simply smiled at her just before he kissed the traitorous tears away.

Without giving her any respite, he thrust his hips powerfully into her, the bed squeaking beneath them. His hands gripped tightly on her body, pulling her closer, and she desperately clutched his shoulders to push herself as close against him as she could get. He sped up his thrusts, circling his hips with every plunge into her.

Finola ground against him with willful strength, her head falling back every time he reached the sweet spot inside her. Opening her legs wider for him, she needed more, wanting the sensation of him within her to last forever. Scratching down his back roughly, she knew she might draw blood, but it didn't seem to matter. As she marked his back with her nails, he only groaned his approval in her ear and pushed harder and deeper.

Rubbing against her with each thrust, she kissed him deeply, and he let out a moan, her muscles clenching around him. She was so sensitive now, every thrust magnified as his arm came around to brace her lower back, his other hand guiding her hip. She cried out, howling his name, her body shaking and her vision going blurry, the ceiling above them wavy and indistinct.

He could feel her orgasm, an incredible feeling, like nothing he'd ever experienced before. The woman beneath him belonged to him, and he was so in love with her, in love with this one moment, ignoring the fear that he might never hold her like this again. Every thrust brought him closer to completion, but he didn't want to feel the overwhelming pleasure of spilling his seed, not yet. For once, he didn't want it to be over, not now, not ever.

He slowed his thrusts and gazed at her, a smile on her lips, and she brought her head up to give him a sweet, soft peck of her lips. She molded her body to his, filling every space with flesh and limb. If she could only get closer… under his skin. "I love this," she whispered. "This closeness. It's breathtaking, but... comforting… it's so right."

He suddenly lost his ability to breathe. She kissed him again, only more urgently this time, and pulled him back into her. His mouth moved to her neck, nipping harder with each thrust, and when he bit her, she moaned, squeezing her fingers into the skin on his shoulders. The thumping of his heart in his ears had him push ever deeper, spilling his seed into her warmth, gasping her name across her lips and shuddering, before collapsing against her.

A smile lit his face as he looked at the mark on her shoulder, still a bit red. She was his tonight, _his_ , and that was all that mattered. He sighed with relief, tracing a finger over her stomach. "Have I ever mentioned how I adore this lovely beauty mark, right here?" he said, kissing the freckle on her flesh. When his eyes found hers, she swallowed hard and looked away. "Are you all right?" he asked with a deliberate smile playing on his lips, acknowledging the strength of her orgasm.

"Never better."

"Never?" he teased. She drew in her breath, a squeak escaping from her. "Are you crying again?" he said quietly, his eyebrows knitting together with concern.

"I'm all right." Her fingertips brushed his cheek, his lips, before settling on his chest. As she laid her palm on him, she felt his heart beating, and his body shivered as she slid her hand across his chest, coming to rest just under him.

Bran's voice was calm, soothing. "Go on, let it out, Fin. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm happy. Really, I am," she countered. "I am!" But what came out next was a sob. "This is all very un-Champion like, isn't it?" she chuckled, wiping her nose in a decidedly unladylike fashion.

Her laughter in between sniffles was oddly endearing, and Bran swept her up in his arms, nuzzling into her neck with tender kisses.

"Forget your many titles. Tonight you are simply Finola Hawke, a wanton, sex crazed, nymphomaniac."

"Ha! Don't you think you might be projecting a little?" she asked with a wink of an eye.

"Maybe so. But it doesn't matter, because…." Soft, warm hands cupped her cheeks, Bran's eyes keen on her face. "I have a beautiful woman near me…." He pushed her backward gently. "…In my bed." Heated lips crushed to hers. "Underneath my body…." His knees pushed her thighs apart roughly. "Waiting for me to fill her once again." He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Yes. Maker, yes!"


	6. …You Get What You Need

Bran awoke to an empty and cold bed. His pulse quickened at the thought of Finola leaving him once again, another lonely morning after they had shared such passionate moments the night before. All together naked, he threw on a silken robe and headed for the stairs. The smell of onions assaulted his senses – burning onions – and his stomach lurched.

"Geoffrey! Anna!" Bran's head jerked from side to side searching for his staff as he ran past the now cold fireplace. "Damn it!"

Sprinting down the hallway, he saw none of his servants in attendance, and while that was odd, his chief concern was not having his house burn down. Bran kept moving until he pushed the doors to the kitchen wide open. He stopped in his tracks then. Finola was scrambling about, mouthing silent expletives. Smattered with flour from head to toe, a wooden spoon flailed in each of her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Damn onions making me cry…." he heard her mutter.

She was a remarkable sight, and his heart beat faster just looking at her cheeks flushed pink under the dusting of white flour. The hair at her temples was damp, curling in little ringlets as she swiped her hands across the apron and blew out a loud sigh.

"At least you had the sense to wear an apron," he remarked.

"Don't you _dare_ make fun of me, Bran." The wooden spoon in her hand was pointed directly at his throat.

He moved the spoon away, and then tucked a few untamed strands of hair behind her ear, his voice gentle as he spoke. "I wouldn't dream of making fun of you." There was a chuckle buried just under the surface of his reply, but surprisingly, she ignored his comment. _Progress…._

"Maker, Bran. Cooking shouldn't be this hard," she huffed, scrapping browned bits of burnt vegetable matter from a skillet. "I thought I'd make breakfast, but…."

"Have you ever cooked before?"

"Of course I have, you idiot."

_Nothing like being called an idiot first thing in the morning_. He raised an eyebrow at her angry tone. "Name calling in frustration? That is _so_ unlike you."

"Sorry," she mumbled. "And I have cooked… once or twice... when I was a girl."

He threw back his head and laughed at her innocent bluster. "Then why in the Maker's name did you think you'd suddenly be perfect at it?"

Finola dragged the back of her hand across her forehead. "I didn't think it would be so hard."

Bran peered over her shoulder, his nose wrinkling. "You know you are supposed to slice the onions first, right?"

"They _are_ sliced," she said between gritted teeth. "Well, perhaps they're a bit thick, but sliced nonetheless."

"What exactly are you attempting to tame there anyway?"

"I am making you egg stew," she said, attempting a confident smile. "I've poached the eggs in oil, but frying the onions seems to have taken a bit of a turn… and then I boil it all in wine and vinegar!"

"Sounds… interesting."

She made a face and turned her attention back to the sizzling pan. "When you say something is interesting you really mean it's terrible." Eying him again, she blinked as if slightly hurt by his tone, and then she lifted her chin. "You can starve then!"

"No snits. Remember our deal?" As he touched her cheek, his eyes went soft. He tilted his head a little and smiled. "It is the effort that counts, my dear." She waved off his praise, but he could tell she was quite pleased with his kind words.

"Are you going to taste it at least?" With a stricken look upon her face, she stood there with her arms akimbo.

"Well, I guess I... have to?"

"Don't sound so enthusiastic." Folding her arms across her chest, she didn't say anything at all for half a minute, but when she finally spoke, the words came out all together. "I have been down here slaving like a dog this morning and this is the thanks I get for it. You're nothing but an ingrate, Bran Wyndham." She jerked away from him.

He couldn't say how many of her little fits of temper he had endured over the years, but he did know that every minute of it was pure bliss. And utter torture. He wanted this woman so urgently he could hardly breathe. And yet with every breath he took, he knew it to be a colossal mistake to even consider pursuing her openly just yet. However, he fully expected the fop of a chantry brother to make a wrong move, and when he did, Bran intended to swoop in and take Finola. No question.

He looked at her with a devilish gleam in his eyes. "I'm not hungry, Finola, not for food," He almost grinned at the grumpy look on her face but refrained. "I hunger for _you_ , and that desire must be assuaged." His lips moved to her ear, his tongue swirling around it sensually. He caressed her with increasing intimacy, alternating pressure and speed as her breathing grew unsteady. His fingers toyed with the belt on her robe. "Have you eaten some fruit? You smell like… berries." He nipped the enticing curve of her neck, where the robe had slipped a bit. "Will you taste like them too?" he asked, making her smile in spite of everything.

Finola trembled in his arms, but would not give in to his seductive charms. "I refuse to kiss you… until you taste my breakfast."

A finger came up to gently swipe her bottom lip. As innocent as she was, somehow she knew instinctively how to drive a man wild with lust. Just looking at her with her lips apart in mute surprise, her eyes wide open, aroused him beyond all reason.

"Well? Are you going to try it or not?"

"Do you at least have some antidote at the ready?" He ducked before she could land the blow to his jaw.

"Ooh, Bran, you're faster than I thought. I'll have to remember that." She nodded admiringly while getting a spoonful for him to eat. "Just try it. Please?"

_News of the hour,_ he thought _. Seneschal Bran poisoned to death by the Champion's celebrated egg stew_. Trying to find some humor in the situation, however ironic, he nodded with a little chuckle. A quick softening of her mouth made his heart warm, until the spoon came up to his lips. Then he shuddered. Surely the smell of it had to be worse than the taste of it. But no. The burnt onion slice soaked in oil slithered across his tongue toward his throat, the eggs' sulfurous tang mingling with it. When his gag reflex challenged him, Bran took a deep breath and willed it away.

Her face fell as she sighed. "It's horrible, isn't it?"

"It is," he said as it caught in his craw. He did his best to finish swallowing the offending morsel without choking, and then cleared his throat before washing away the unpleasant aftertaste with a big mouthful of Orlesian wine. "But I am delighted you think enough of me to risk life and limb in the kitchen."

"I did try," she pouted. "Really hard."

_Maker, she's like a child sometimes_ , he thought, _so petulant and entertaining, so easy to… love_. He was pleased with her consideration, thrilled actually, but damn it, he knew where all this admiration was leading – straight into a tunnel without light. _Damn the consequences_ , he thought impulsively.

"Come here," he growled, pulling her close and peppering her throat with kisses. "I know you tried, Fin. I'm only teasing you. And I am… encouraged by your thoughtfulness." He squeezed her hand. She looked at him; her eyes seemed to strain with a guilt-ridden emotion. But a slight smile curved her lips and she returned the gentle squeeze.

"So, what are we to eat now?" she asked.

"Why don't you go have a bath and I'll bring up a platter of assorted canapés for us to snack on in between other, more exploratory, activities."

"Oh, I like the sound of that." He intentionally wore a mischievous smile to speed up her heart beat. She returned his contagious grin though she looked a bit like a child gazing upon her hero. "Maybe you can instruct me on the finer aspects of oral pleasure, as you promised last night."

Heat shot through him with the strength of a fiery blaze, and without thinking, he grabbed the back of her head to pull her closer. She whimpered, and the sound was like touching a match to already hot tinder.

"Finola dear, careful what you say to me." There was calculated power in his voice — and a promise of things he knew she could not even begin to imagine. "That could be mistaken for a subtle plea to throw you on the table and fuck you until you can't breathe."

"Maker, Bran, you do know how to turn a girl on."

"I should hope so." He was as hard as a rock, aching, his body making urgent demands, but he wanted so much more from her. A part of him knew he needed to go slow. If this was to last, she had to know he wasn't using her. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to take her right then. "Now, get yourself cleaned up and I'll join you shortly."

She paused before leaving and eyed him. "Would you… would you really do that?"

"Fuck you on the table? In a heartbeat if I thought you were ready for a little roughness." He pressed against her again, squeezing her against the wall, his hands moving to grab at her backside. Hauling her up against his stiff cock, his lips left hers for a moment. "However, I think some more instruction is in order. As you know, I can be quite assertive, and I don't want to scare you off."

"Yes, you… you can be." His touch was making her wet enough, but his words were causing a flood. "But what exactly… would you…?"

The rest of the question flew from her head when he buried his face in the curve of her neck and whispered in her ear. "I would have you willingly surrender to me, without hesitation and without question. No struggling… unless I told you to struggle, of course." He met her wide eyes, and lifted her short robe up, his hands roaming under it to slip between her thighs with just a hint of a tease. He moved his hand over her ribs and breasts with soft touches and caresses only, and all she could do was nod her head and moan. "And you would gladly part your legs and wrap them around my body as I fucked you deep and hard, savoring those noises you make, until we both come."

He kissed her, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth, searching and taking, branding her as his. Heat rose from her skin, warming him, and he knew his touch burned her, causing her to ache as he did.

Staring intently into her perplexed gaze, his hands touched her hips, drawing her slowly toward him. "I assume you get the picture now?"

His fingers were doing that, and he wanted a coherent answer? "I… do," she breathed. "But if you tease me one more time, I might have to kill you."

"Tease you?" he groaned. "You've teased me for the last two days… shamelessly," he said, stroking her curves and kissing her lips.

"Well, I only tease the people I like. So consider yourself one of the lucky few." She put her head on his shoulder. "But I am not who you think I am most days."

"Whoever you may be, I am fortunate to have you here with me now." She laughed at that.

"If you can say the same tonight, I may believe you." She continued laughing as she strutted off, but before she turned the corner, she bent over so that he could see right up her robe.

Bran laughed even louder at her bright smile, yelling to her as she trotted away.

"Tease!"

"You love it!"

Maker help him, he did love her sass, as madly and thoroughly as he loved the woman herself. But what he loved most of all was her happiness, the way she took such delight in everything they had done together so far. Over the last two days, she seemed to have shed years of disquiet, her dull and miserable existence taking on new meaning as she broke free from the constraints of everyday life.

She trusted him, and she could say and do anything with him and not feel as though he would judge her for it. He had changed her, the deepest core of her, her perception of herself. He had set her free. If only she knew what he had done for her.

* * *

A short while later, Bran returned to Finola with a platter of food. She was in the over-sized bathtub, her head back, her eyes closed. He set the tray down and stripped off his clothes.

When she looked at him, she was startled by his bareness. Finola wondered if he often walked around totally naked, not to mention his seemingly ever-present hard on. "Are you aroused every minute of the day, Bran?"

"Of course not." He climbed into the bathtub so fast the water sloshed over the sides. Stretching his legs out, he positioned one foot at each side of her hips, and she did the same with her feet. "You and your wanton nakedness are the cause of my arousal."

"Please," she drawled. "Spare me, Bran." Normally his candid words embarrassed her or enraged her. Now, he saw a little hint of delight through her phony indignation.

"You make me hard, Fin." Instead of running his fingers over her breasts, like he wanted to, he caressed her hips under the water, then grasped her waist, pulling her gently against his erection. "Your body, your scent, the little sounds you make." He started to kiss her neck and shoulders. "When you ramble on about nothing and then flush with embarrassment you arouse me." He slid his hand from her cheek to the back of her head. His fingers tangled into her dampened hair, warm against her head. "And that was a scandalously indecent question, by the way."

"You're rubbing off on me," she breathed. "Pretty soon I'll be the second biggest pain in the ass in Kirkwall."

He laughed, agreement plain in his smile. "As long as you remember who's number one."

He leaned forward to cover her mouth with his. When she sank into him, sighing against his mouth, his tongue slipped between her lips. Heat raced through his body and pooled in the pit of his stomach when she pulled him closer. She had no idea it would be like this until he showed her, and if he had his way, he'd show her the truest sense of pleasure. He'd help her discover the part of her that hungered for a strong man to take control. He'd show her the strength of submitting to him, rousing the lust he'd glimpsed in the depths of those heated eyes, using her own passions to unshackle her from oppressive thoughts.

He'd make her see they were meant to be together.

"I intend to show you delights you can hardly imagine. And I know you are curious." He gave her a penetrating look of longing. "But never doubt that you arouse me more than any lover I've ever had." His hand guided her to his throbbing erection, closing her fingers deliberately around him.

Her breathing sped up at the intense feel of him; his swollen length was rigid and hard. Yes, she was curious, but even more, she seemed on fire for him. Bran thought she never, in her wildest dreams, would have believed a man could make her feel this way, achy and needy and wanting so much more. And he felt the same for her.

Her grip was so firm and strong, it was almost painful, and he groaned when she continued stroking him, even more enthusiastically than before. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the hot rush of pleasure.

"You don't know... what you do to me," he said, his voice low and husky.

"If it's anything like what you do to me, then I expect it to be highly effective."

He grinned at that. "You're testing my resolve, are you not?"

She leaned in and kissed him, then put the soap in his hand and guided it to her breasts. "Feel free to test mine."

Slowly he began to rub the slippery soap across her breasts, tuning himself to her, refining his touch to her responses, even as she released her hold on him. He tweaked her nipples, then he massaged them leisurely with featherlike touches until they tightened into hard beads before soaping her curves again.

"Oh, that feels nice," she mused.

His hands slid over her breasts, slick with lather, and he pinched her nipples harder. She gasped from the erotic sensation. "Am I hurting you?"

"No…well, yes, but…."

A smug smile lit his face. "Pain and pleasure do go hand-in-hand at times." He pinched her again, then squeezed her breasts hard, and her hips thrust forward. "You seem to like it well enough." He slid one hand into her tousled hair, his smile feral as he moved in and brushed his lips over hers, gently nipping with small sensual bites that made her tremble with desire for him. He flicked his tongue down her neck to the hollow of her throat and on to the curve of her breasts. "What would you have me do now, my dear?"

"More…."

"More what?"

"More of… that."

He captured her nipple between his teeth and she cried out, arching her back and thrusting her flesh more firmly into his mouth. "So sweet…." The thrum of his voice vibrated through her, straight to her core. His tongue made one long, lingering caress over her breasts that had her moaning. "Where to touch you next…." Not a question, but a statement of things to come. He slid backwards and guided her, turning her around so her back rested against his left side. _This big tub was a good investment after all_. Now he had better access to her and slowly ran his fingers down her thighs, pausing to spread her legs apart.

"And how hard shall I touch you?" He stroked his fingers up the inside of her thigh, and his thumb flicked across her clit. "Or how soft? Anything you want of me, Fin, you've only to ask." His smile was as wicked as the gentle finger between her legs, his palm cushioned comfortably against her.

"You've proven your point," she whispered, her eyes averted, her cheeks blooming bright as crimson roses. "My resolve has weakened."

"It certainly has." Bran smiled as he kissed a trail from her neck to her lips, and she squirmed beneath him. "To the bed then?"

"Please," she whispered, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire. "I don't want to wait."

Tangled in each other's arms, they kissed all the way to the bed and then collapsed, not bothering to towel off. She lay back and opened her legs in a brazen moment, and his gaze widened as he drank in the entire sight of her. Maker, but he almost groaned aloud.

He laid atop her at once, his mouth finding hers and devouring it. She kissed him back with every ounce of her being, her hands sliding into his hair and holding him there as she did. Then she let her hands drift down over his body. With her fingers, she traced the column of his spine, pressing him still closer to her.

"What would you like now, Finola?"

"Let me do something for you." Without waiting for his response, she took control of the moment by rolling him onto his back and lifting herself over him. She kissed his chest as he had kissed hers before, sucking his nipples, nipping at him, coaxing a groan from him.

She slid back further, her lips quickly claiming his hard cock. Her head gently bobbed up and down, her hands cupping his balls, toying with them as she rolled them between her fingers gently. Then she slid downward, and kept going. Bran gulped. He couldn't believe it. She took his entire length down her throat. She clasped his hips with both hands and moaned, sliding her hands up and down, and digging her nails into his flesh.

"A hidden talent?" he managed to say, though his voice sounded rough. Then he swallowed hard. "Or have you… researched?"

"I've read some books, heard some talk over the years." With her hand, she began to pump while making purring noises, her lips wrapped around the tip of his manhood. She stopped just long enough to add one more thing. "Isabela fancies herself the queen of all things oral, and I'm a quick study, as you've said."

He noted the determination in Finola's glittering eyes, the spirit. "Do continue... practicing."

She was here in his bed doing things with her mouth he had only dreamed of, and he battled the raging need that mingled with the sting of jealousy, the thought of her like this with another man plaguing him, even though he knew she hadn't done this before.

While she sucked with increasing eagerness, she explored the bounty spread before her. She took time to lick and taste him, pausing to stroke the smooth skin beneath his balls with a feather light touch that sent a shiver through his body. But he was content to let her explore, even though her skills needed some work; no whore at the Rose had ever made him feel the warmth he was feeling at that moment.

Studying the resolute features of her face, he watched her brows furrow as she concentrated on her movements, on the sensations she wanted to evoke, the taste and fullness of him in her mouth making her moan softly. She moved her head side to side as her tongue flicked back and forth over his tip, and he clutched her hair, his fingers massaging into her scalp.

"Finola," he said, his voice straining. "I don't want to come just yet." Nearly stripped of his celebrated control so quickly, he flipped her over onto her back in a fast, rough move, to graze his teeth over her shoulder. "You purposely hid your talents from me, you naughty girl," he whispered against her neck, biting and kissing her, rubbing his light scruff over her skin. "Had I known you wanted to pleasure me, I would have suggested foregoing the bath for a while."

She grinned as if she had just been very clever. "But it wouldn't have been as entertaining if I had ruined the surprise."

"Proud of yourself then?" She flashed a bigger smile, and his heart flipped watching her eyes darken. "So many surprises, I hardly know what to expect from you next." The moment he touched her wet folds and slid his finger forward, she spread her legs wider. "You're beautiful," he whispered. She moaned almost inaudibly as his fingers smoothed across her. Then he drove his finger inside her, beckoning with deft movements. He looked into her eyes. "Do you like when I touch you?" She sighed in reply. "Yes or no?" he prompted. "Answer me."

"Yes." Her eyes glazed, her breathing growing shallow. "Please, Bran… no more teasing."

How had he ever survived without touching her? His finger circled and pressed, her moans music to his ears as her hips thrust forward. In truth, he did want to tease and arouse her, but not upset her and ruin the moment.

"Do you wish me to fuck you now?" He rose up so his hands were at either side of her head, his cock against her belly. "Would that please you?"

She nodded. Her eyes were dreamy with excitement, but Bran still saw a flash of fire that told him someday she would make him pay for his teasing. The thought nearly undid him. "I want to hear the words, Fin. Say it out loud."

She brushed her hands along his chest, straining to speak the truth with the words he wanted to hear, but all that came out was a whimpering plea. "Please…."

Bran took his cock in hand and placed it against her clit, rubbing hard enough to get a reaction from her. "Please… what?"

A shiver of excitement rippled along her skin, and she trembled from the strength of her need. "Please…." She swallowed hard. "…Fuck me."

"Good," he growled hungrily, quickly positioning himself to enter her. "Now?" he asked hoarsely. At her feverish nod, he pressed forward and slid into her, thrusting himself deep with his full length _. Andraste's tits, but she's tight_.

Even after the previous days' passions, he still couldn't believe it was happening again. Here she was, naked below him, panting and mewling, and she was with him and not that idiot she was obsessed with. He knew things would have to go wrong - either now or shortly afterward, she will think she has made a mistake and leave him behind - but even if it was only this week, he hoped it was enough.

She was tight and hot and wet around him, but he opposed the voice in his head begging him to fuck her fast and hard and make her scream and never forget. So he took care to ensure those glorious noises she made were from pure pleasure. As he pressed into her over and over again, he thanked the Maker for his excellent self-control, or he'd surely come every time she let out a soft cry when he hit just the right spot.

She had changed him over the years, banished the senselessness in his life by just being herself with him. How could he let her leave him? How could he live life happily without Finola beside him, loving her? It seemed like he'd always been in love with her - but he was certain he was only a substitute. And he feared one thing, something he had done many times before with nameless faces. He feared she would cry out someone else's name when she climaxed.

The closer she got, the harder she pulled him to her. Legs wrapped around his waist, forcing him deeper into her with every thrust, and fingers running through his hair making him rumble low and happy like a dog getting his belly rubbed. He knew they were both almost there, but even when he felt her sink her teeth into his shoulder, he kept himself in check.

He heard her whisper his name, breathlessly, sensuously, practically begging with only a word, and desire for her raced through his blood. He wanted to show her everything, all that could be. But his own body begged for release as he crushed her mouth with his. She said his name again, but this time it was on a shivery sigh and she arched up to meet him. She wrapped her arms around his neck he kissed her, his tongue moving against hers, tracing her lips, devouring her.

His pace nearly tripled. All he heard was her quickening breaths until her fingers tightened in his hair and his name tumbled from her lips loudly, desperately. He watched her face, saw the emotions that stole across her soul when she came. He lost himself in her then, giving every part of himself over to her, his brain, his body, his straining, aching cock. He gave her everything, his orgasm roaring through him, the pleasure blinding him. At the peak, he bent his head and kissed her. He'd never been so perfectly content, and he was sure he never would be again.

He was still on top of her, gasping and his heart thudding, and although his arms felt like jelly, he kept himself from collapsing. It took him a moment to catch his breath, and when he opened his eyes, the sight stole it away again. Her hair framed her face with a few strays sticking to her forehead, her cheeks stained pink from the exercise and a little from her usual reserve, and her chest rose and fell slowly as her breathing returned to normal. She stroked his face lovingly as he stared at her, dazed from his near out-of-body experience.

"Stay inside me a while longer. Please, Bran."

He thought he had died and gone to the Maker's side. _Could she be…?_ In the past, she treated him with cold indifference many times, but he assumed that was just an intuitive play at coyness. Certainly, the last two days said otherwise. Loving her as he did, he reveled in the fact that she wanted to stay joined with him, that she was his, if only for this short time.

"I'll do my best, Fin." She laughed softly as he lay there, his arms hugging her to him with fierce passion. When he saw her eyes close, he reached over and pulled the sheet over their sweat-soaked bodies. They were silent as they caught their breath, but he planted kisses on her lips and cheeks, her nose and eyelids. He rolled to his side, holding her close to him, careful to stay inside her. He stroked her face, her eyes still heavily lidded, and she said his name again as if it were a priceless treasure to be guarded.

Then she stared at him, her eyes unblinking and confused, and he assumed she was already rethinking her mistake and wondering where her pious prince was.

"My ego is deflating, you know." She looked at him, puzzled. "You're thinking of another man when you're in bed with me, are you not?" His lips curved into a small smile, but his eyes had gone flat and guarded.

Finola ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "I was not thinking of another man. I was merely thinking of how… surprising it is to be with you like this. All these years we've been friends, I haven't really known you, have I? You are far more… caring than I've ever given you credit for."

This was quite a compliment coming from her. "Well, you've given me a few surprises, too, Fin." They looked at each other and couldn't stop looking. Something was happening between them, and they'd both be lying if they denied it.

"Do you think it's possible for us to simply be friends after this?" she asked in a hushed voice.

The muscles worked in his jaw, and he lowered his hand, not letting her forget what his touch had done to her. Yes, it was something deep and frightening, but he knew she was every bit as aware of where this dalliance might lead as he was.

"Anything is possible, Finola." He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. "And we are still the best of friends." It might destroy him, but if that's what she wanted in the end, that's what he'd give her.

"Perhaps a dose of reality is necessary, Bran." A flush warmed her cheeks, and she averted her gaze. "I should check in with Varric and you should head to the Keep and do some work for a while. We can… have dinner together later, if you like."

He wasn't sure if he should be glad she wanted to spend the time with him, or pissed off because she was avoiding her true feelings. "I'll cook for you this time. What is your favorite food?"

"Well, I adore a good lamb stew," she said, rising from the bed and walking to her messy pile of clothes on the other side of the room.

Bran kept his head on the pillow and smiled as he watched her dress. "As it happens, I have an old family recipe that's sure to please you."

"You won't try to poison me as revenge for this morning, will you?"

"Tempting, but no," he said as he stood and walked toward her. Gently taking her face in his hands, he kissed her on the lips softly . "I know you're concerned about all that has happened between us," he whispered, "but don't be. I will not push you into anything you are not willing to give freely. Let's just enjoy this time now, and allow the fates to worry about tomorrow." His fingers caressed the nape of her neck, and she fixed her eyes on his again.

She hesitated, unsure of herself, and studied him; most likely to be sure she wasn't misinterpreting his proposal. Then, deciding to trust her own instincts, she placed her hands in his and accepted his advice. "You know I trust you, Bran. I do." She traced her fingers down his cheek, so gentle against his skin. "More than ever. But I've really got to run for now. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

He nodded. Her arms wrapped around his neck, embracing him tightly, and he pulled her closer to him. She held on to him, diving into his very soul with a passionate kiss before walking out the door.

He saw the love in her eyes, he was sure of it. And for the first time in ages, he had _made love_ to a woman. It was not mechanical sex with some Hightown trollop or screwing some faceless whore. _Making love_. The words rolled around in his head. The tenderness was there with Finola, the care and satisfaction, the cuddling and whispering together. They had made love and it was just as breathtaking that morning as it had been the night before. What made her punish them both this way?

_One day she will listen to her heart instead of her head. Let her play games for now._

No matter the outcome at the end of the week, he would watch and follow. After all, he was a very patient man and he was willing to wait for her while she gathered confidence in herself. He was willing to wait quite a while.

_But Maker, help me…_


	7. A New Horizon

Bran and Lianna waited for Finola to bring in the assorted canapés, the delicate and special treats she had made every week for their daughter's tea parties. Surrounded by Lianna's dolls, the chatting and tea sipping was already in full swing as Bran dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin. They were both very prim and proper, drinking with their pinkies out, their noses turned up, and their napkins draped in the right places. Bran had missed these precious moments the last few weeks. Now he basked in the joy Lianna's presence brought him.

He picked up the miniature teakettle and poured some water into Lianna's teacup. "For you, my lady."

"Thank you, kind ser." As she sipped her drink, her face grew solemn, her eyes soft with a faraway gaze so reminiscent of Finola's.

"What are you thinking about, Lianna?"

"Mama said I shouldn't have lied to you about the puppy." The little girl looked away from her father's unyielding gaze, twisting her fingers.

"She's right. You should have told me the puppy had a home already. But I think you have already learned a clear lesson about dishonesty." He reached out and touched her chin, turning her eyes up into his own. "I regret being away these last weeks, but your mother and I love you very much. No matter what, never question that."

"I won't." Bran thought his daughter had somehow felt unloved due to his sudden absence, but then petulance broke through her wistful stare. "Rebecca has four puppies, and I don't even have one. It's not fair!" she protested with a tremendous pout.

"Life is not fair, Lianna dear." He stroked her cheek and smiled. She reminded him so much of Finola sometimes. It didn't help that the older she grew the more she looked like her mother. She had inherited but a tiny fraction of his features, as her strawberry-blond hair indicated, but she had the pale skin, the pointed nose and thin lips, and of course, the blue eyes that knew almost instinctively how to manipulate him. "Had you asked me if we could buy the puppy, I would have said yes. Stealing is worse than lying."

"I'm sorry, Papa. I just really wanted him. Mama always says you hurt the ones you love the most when you lie. So I won't _ever_ lie again. Or steal." Loose curls fell over her long-lashed eyes as she hugged him tightly. "She told me that when she lied to you before you were married, she always felt really bad. She still feels sad about it sometimes."

Bran sighed. "Your mother does tend to dwell on the past." Curiosity piqued, he wanted to know all about Finola's conversations with Lianna, hoping to assess his wife's mood while he was gone. "What else did she tell you while I was away?"

"She told me you fell in love with her before she fell in love with you, and you waited for her a long time. Is that true?"

"Your mother never lies to you, Lianna. I did wait for her." Bran tickled his daughter's ear with a feather as he whispered to her. "You know your father is the most patient man in all of Thedas."

"She said that, too." He smiled, a long forgotten memory blooming in his mind. "She talked about how you worked together before we had to leave Kirkwall and that you made her job hard sometimes, that you were always sticking your nose where it didn't belong."

He chuckled to himself remembering those days fondly. "Did she also mention that her stubborn and argumentative nature was usually the cause of my nose being stuck where it didn't belong?"

"No, but she did say you bought her truffles whenever she was mad at you." Lianna picked up a doll and placed a teacup to its lips for a drink. "Mama loves truffles more than anyone I know!"

"That is undeniably true, my dear. And I introduced her to those blasted confections." With a small smile on his lips, he contemplated a significant moment in time, a memory after Finola's mother had died. "Did you know I fell in love with your mother while she was eating a truffle? The first one she had ever eaten in her life."

"You did?" she asked, wide-eyed. "Did you give her the truffle to try and make her love you?"

His face grew suddenly humorless. "It is 'to try _to_ make her love you'." Lianna nodded, rolling her eyes and sighing dramatically. _Just like her mother…._ "The truffle was meant to be comforting for her that day, although I did try to woo her with truffles on many other occasions."

Lianna's eyes shifted about the room as she whispered. "Do you want to know a secret, Papa?"

"I'd love to know a secret," he said, assuming it was some minor tidbit of information.

"Mama ate _seven_ truffles in a row this morning while you were gone. Then she threw them all up right on the kitchen floor. It was so disgusting." Her face twisted with a tortured mixture of amusement and horror.

His brows rose, a sharp chill running through him. "Did she feel better afterward?"

"Oh yes, much better," she nodded, focusing right back on her dolls' lack of tea.

"And how did you know she felt better?"

"Because she stood at the window waiting for you and talking to herself while she ate four more!"

"I see," he laughed. "And I assume _those_ truffles did not come back up."

She shook her head. "She owes you five coppers for saying bad words, too."

"Only five while I was gone? That is surprising."

"Oh no! The grand total is twenty-two coppers. She was very cranky without you here. I think she should be grounded, Papa."

A low chuckle rumbled from the bottom of his chest. "Perhaps you're right. I shall reprimand her later."

"I wonder why Mama fell in love with you. Do you know why she did or when she did, Papa? Was it a great romance?"

He knew precisely _why_ Finola had fallen in love with him, and he knew the approximate time period, but not the exact moment. And there were far too many moments to think about just then. "Good questions to ask her when she brings us the snacks to go with our tea."

"Did somebody say snacks?" Finola swept into the room with a tray full of bite size treats. Gazing at her family adoringly, she couldn't have loved Bran more than she did watching him sit with their daughter in an absurdly small chair. His natural tenderness warmed her inside and out.

"Perfect timing, Finola dear. Your daughter has some questions for you."

"And what would you like to ask me, my beauty?" Finola placed the tray down on the table, snatching a tartlet and popping it into her mouth.

Lianna looked up at her mother, a curious expression on her face. "Why did you fall in love with Papa?"

"Because your father accepted me for just being me," she said with alacrity. "And he made me laugh _all_ the time."

"When did you know you _really_ loved him?" There was a stretch of silence while her question seemed to hang in the air.

It took Finola a second or two before she spoke. "I think I fell in love with your father the first time he brought me a truffle."

"Papa said the he fell in love with you on the same day!"

"When I came to see you after your mother died?" Bran asked. "You never told me that, Fin."

"I never thought about it before." The same regretful gaze he'd received so many times over the years made another appearance. "I was in denial then, about a lot of things. But you've had my heart ever since," she said. "More or less."

Finola laughed at his shocked but pleased expression as he drew her down beside him on a larger chair. She looked at the hand maintaining a gentle hold on her own, then stared into his eyes.

They came together in a kiss that spoke of caring and compassion, of sharing and understanding. A kiss that meant to heal a thousand wounds, a kiss that would last for all time.

"Ewww! You're kissing again!" Shrieking like a frightened goose, Lianna fled from the room, but not before casting a pretend sleeping spell on her doll family. "Naptime!"

Bran heard his wife's sharp intake of breath, and he struggled to keep his face unreadable until Lianna closed the door. "You handled her little mock display well, Fin."

Finola shrugged, but the glint of fear in her eyes was unmistakable. He swooped in to astound her with another searing kiss. Then his gaze dropped to the immense swell of her belly, and he went still. She held her breath, wondering if the moment was too raw, even now. But to her surprise, he laid his cheek on her and turned his mouth just enough to press a kiss against her, and then another.

"One for you, and one for our son."

She let out the breath. "The little stallion has been kicking me all day long. I think he'll be here before the week is over."

"Maker's breath, we still have to finish the nursery." He laid down his teacup and regarded her with mingled concern and devotion. "We'll be out of harm's way here for years to come, so don't worry. I love you."

"Damn right you do. And don't leave me for weeks on end again." A lump had formed in her throat, surprising her with a sudden surge of emotion. She looked away, hearing her own voice tremble as she spoke. "And I love you, too."

She needed something to distract her thoughts from sinking into despair. "Did you acquire the surprise?"

"Of course I did. Who would deny a woman as swollen with child as I am?" A smile spread on her face, her shoulders relaxing. "I wonder what Lianna will name him."

"After herself, no doubt. As you did with your mabari."

"Oh, she's your daughter through and through, Bran. I expect her to name him something like _Ser Cabernet Wyndham of the Evergreen Valley_."

"'Cab' for short then," he said with a wink. "When do we pick him up?"

"He's already here," she whispered excitedly. "Downstairs, in a crate in the pantry. Let's give him to her now."

"You're worse than she is, you know. Lianna could find herself vying with you for the puppy's affections if you don't have the baby soon."

"Maker, Bran, I've been walking around and staying on my feet all day to get the damned labor to start. Not to mention the dozens of spicy peppers I've eaten this week."

"I do have a recommendation," he said with a particular twinkle in his eye. "Do you remember the night I made love to you in the hot spring? Lianna was born the next day."

"I remember." She hung her head, her hand unconsciously rubbing her belly. "But there are no hot springs here, and I'm even bigger than last time. Logistically, I can't see how we can do it without someone getting hurt."

"I know that look, Fin." He stood and pulled her up with him. Holding her face in his hands, he kissed every inch of it before reclaiming the softness of her lips. "You are as lovely as ever, and I want you as much as I ever have."

"I'm supposed to be glowing and beautiful. Instead, I'm enormous. And grouchy."

"You are not." Bran wrapped his arms around her and she sighed, putting her head on his shoulder. For a few blessed minutes, every worry seemed to disappear.

He shifted himself so she couldn't ignore the strength of his desire. "I've missed you, Fin. And I want to make love to you. Right now."

"But—"

"No buts," he said firmly. "Come with me, little duckling."

Finola growled. "You must really be frustrated after all these weeks."

Grabbing her hand, he said **, "** Come with me to our chambers, and I'll show you."

Perhaps their new life _would_ be peaceful and fulfilling now, Finola thought. They had come too far for her to regret the last years' trials anyway. This was more freedom than they had ever known. It was paradise, and paradise was always warm and sunny. It was always perfect.

_Just like my family._


	8. A Rare Snowstorm

**A Rare Snowstorm**

"The snow is really starting to accumulate, Bran. We should go before it gets too deep." Finola drummed her fingers on the one spot where his desk was not covered in paperwork, then cleared her throat. "Did you hear me?

"These cold snaps don't last for long in Kirkwall," he said absently.

"What does that have to do with anything?" She rapped on the desk again, but he kept his head down. "Listen to me, Bran Wyndham, let's wrap it up for tonight before we get stuck here," she insisted. "Kirkwall won't fall apart if we leave an hour early."

He grimaced, irritated with her for knowing so little about the job she needed to do. He was also annoyed with himself for having acquiesced to Kirkwall's plea to have her as Viscountess. Above all, he admonished himself for being attracted to her in the first place, and for loving her now. But it was only a brief moment of reproach, the old Bran peeking out for his say until the new and improved Bran sent the little devil packing.

Bran lifted his head and peered out the window. "Pretty, isn't it?" Deciding to stretch his legs, he walked to the window, rolling his head from side to side and working the muscles bunched into balls of tension. He stared outside, to some distant place, not actually thinking of anything specific, not worried or upset, just lost in a much needed moment of serene beauty. "I can't remember the last time we had snows like this. Roofs covered in white and little icicles hanging from the eaves."

"Are you serious?" she scoffed at his reflective tone, pouring a glass of water sloppily, some water splashing across his desk. "Do you actually like this snow?"

A low growl got his point across. He watched as her expression softened, quickly losing her disapproving attitude. Her lips curved a bit, but not in the shrewd smile he'd come to love. This was a tender smile, so loving it took his breath away.

Slowly, she nodded. "Forgive my lack of enthusiasm." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'm just tired, Bran. I really want to go home. But you're right. The snow has certainly helped rid Kirkwall of its bleakness."

"It is something… different." He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Romantic in a way. We can sit by the hearth and drink hot toddies." Surprisingly, she moved closer to him then, leaning on him, her head resting on his shoulder. He loosened her bun and let her long strands cascade over her shoulders. "We can make love in front of a roaring fire tonight."

"Mmm, I like the sound of that. We should do that every night, by the way." She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. "But it is getting dark, and I am tired and bored with all this paperwork."

"Finola, paperwork is every bit as important as 'killing the bad guys' as you say." Her heavy sigh was so despondent, he almost threw caution to the wind. He wanted to run his hands over her back and shoulders, to tempt her with a kiss that she'd never be able to refuse, to take her right there against the wall. He forced himself to remain still. "Just a few minutes more," he said with a tight squeeze, but she pulled away.

"I'm going home."

He stiffened like a man who had received an unexpected blow. "You plan to trudge through the snow alone, do you?"

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?" Finola threw a cloak over her shoulders.

"No, no. Just..." Bran paused, thoughtfully planning his next statement. "Just keep to the main walkways. Do not take the shortcuts home."

She laughed. "Shortcuts. You mean you don't want me to walk through the lantern district should I find myself in need of warmth. Afraid you might miss some action?"

"As if you'd dare go near that hotbed of debauchery. Come now, Finola, you know I'm only thinking of your welfare."

"Are you really?" Her tone was indignant, almost haughty. The defensive posturing was there, the absurd offense taken at the mention of her lazy sensibilities, all brought on by his devotion to the job. A royal snit was in the making.

"My concern is genuine. What is so wrong with my telling you to be careful?"

"It sounded to me like you were dictating, Bran. And if you weren't dictating, then you were controlling."

"Would you prefer indifference? Surely you've had more than your share of apathy in recent months. Vael was nothing if not a selfish prig."

"All right, I get the point," she grumbled. "And your concern is touching albeit confusing, after your own callous disregard for my well-being in the past."

"Save your sarcasm for another day," he snapped, and she huffed at his hasty words. "Damn it, Fin, I mean it." He went to her quickly, taking her by the hands. "You are reckless too often. Not to mention impulsive, and to be honest, a bit too enamored of your own skills. One of these days, someone will back you into a corner and…" The thought of harm coming to her was a fear he had to live with everyday, a fear he detested and flushed over. But he forced himself to quell those self-absorbed notions. Maker, she had turned him into such a worry wart. Prior to her involvement in his life, his days were without personal worries, predictable, yet sadly, quite boring. "Just do as I say. I don't ask much of you."

"I'll humor you this time, Bran. But how long are you planning to stay at the Keep? There will be no one left to escort you home if you stay much longer." Ah, there was that hint of disquiet in her tone, albeit cleverly masked behind a loud slurp of water. "Then you'll be stuck spending the night here with those creepy templars, and I'll be left trying to keep warm in my giant bed all alone. You know how cranky that will make me tomorrow."

"Maker forbid I have to endure your crankiness first thing in the morning," he said, attempting a tease.

"That's it? That's your smart-ass come back? Maker's breath, Bran, you must be exhausted. Just come home with me now. Please?"

True exhaustion _had_ settled into his bones, and he stifled a yawn with much effort. But he'd be damned if he let on about his fatigue to her. "I'm as perky as a robin in springtime, my dear, so allow me to rephrase," he said with enthusiasm as took her hand and pressed it to his chest. "I cannot envision being the cause of any ill manner on your part for fear that you may cleave my head in two in the morning. Therefore, I suggest you get yourself to your residency post-haste and avail yourself of every opportunity to primp and prime for my return. I swear your rewards will be more than worth the effort."

Her laugh echoed off the walls in the quiet room. "Oh, Bran, you're one in a million. But you can't fool me. I _know_ you're exhausted. Please come with me."

"I'll be along shortly, within the hour. I promise," he affirmed with a snug embrace. "And I expect a hot meal and a stiff drink when I get home, too."

Her brows rose, likely because he had never referred to her residence as anything but the Hawke Estate. Surely his own house was sufficient enough most days, but the food there was bland and dry, the fire no doubt waning, the bed, painfully frigid and devoid of… her. He moved closer and gently kissed her, and she let herself dissolve into the kiss as he knew she would. It was like this every time, starting out gentle, and then a fire would burn within her, as it did within him. As he pulled away, she let out a hiss of desire, exposing a vulnerability he rarely witnessed outside the bedroom. "I will see you at home, my dear. Very soon."

"Do you really feel like it's your home, Bran?" With eyes softer than he'd ever seen them, she spoke with much regret. "Maybe I haven't made it obvious, but I really want you to feel at home there."

"Finola, wherever you are _is_ my home. Do you never believe a word I say to you?"

"It's not that I don't believe you. I'm… I've just never had-"

"Quiet now." His lips descended on hers, demanding and warm, silencing a rant about the pathetic state of her former love life, if one could call a _love life_. "When I return home, you have only to suggest how you would like our evening to progress. I shall make sure it is up to your expectations."

She put her hands on his face, cupping each side of his strong, elegant jaw line. "I wasted so much time, so many days waiting for what could never be. I was such a fool."

"No more so than I." He placed a delicate kiss on her forehead and loosened his embrace. "Now go, Fin. And do not dawdle along the way."

She smiled and blew him a kiss, accompanied by a saucy wink. "Will do, Ser Seneschal," she said, then sashayed out the door.

Bran sighed, wondering why the Maker had seen fit to give him a second chance at happiness with Finola, a woman who was devoted to him despite his considerable flaws. Now he would have companionship and intimacy in his later years instead of bitter loneliness. Yes, he would do everything in his power to protect and nurture the love they shared, and the child now growing insider her, no matter the occasional bruising to his ego.

"A few more pages to review and sign, and then I'll go home." At his desk, he smiled wistfully, then took a few parchments off the damnable pile and set to work, his quill already dipping into the inkpot for the next signature.

* * *

Finola's glass was almost empty, the last sips of brandy left to finish when Bran returned from the Keep. Why wasn't he home yet? "Damn responsibilities. This blasted city is aging me beyond my years," she muttered to herself. "Bodahn! Any sign of Bran yet? He said he'd be home within the hour and it's been almost two hours."

"No sign yet," Bodahn said. He was waiting by the window, as ordered, to keep an eye out for the Seneschal. "But you know he gets caught up in the maneuverings of running this city. I'm sure he'll be along shortly, messere."

"Yes. I'm sure." But she wasn't sure. It was not like Bran to be so late, and with the snow amassing in drifts past the doorknobs on the other side of the street, her inner pessimist sprang to life. _Maker damn it all!_ She cursed the weather and pulled on a pair of boots, and then her leathers went over warm leggings swiftly. Shouting for Bodahn to bring her a cloak as she sheathed her daggers, a voice in her head screamed all was not well. The cold air licked at her cheeks when she opened the door, and snowflakes flew into the entranceway, swirling around her. She turned towards Bodahn, all seriousness, with a glint of malice in her eyes.

"I'm going to get him. If he shows up while I'm gone, tell him…." _Tell him I'm going to make him wish he was never born._ "Tell him to prepare for a tongue lashing."

"Of course, messere. I will tell him." Bodahn grinned. He was hardly surprised by Finola's decree. He'd seen the best and the worst of Finola and Bran, heard their heated arguments as well as their more passionate words. Truth be told, living in her house was far more exciting than any gossip monger in Kirkwall could imagine. If she was grumpy and demanding at times, she more than made up for it in other ways. Bodahn and his son lived well, they were safe and protected. They had freedom to come and go as they pleased most of the time, and more coin to spend than he ever imagined they would have. Finola took care of her own, few that there were, and he was grateful to be counted among them. He handed her a fur-lined pair of gloves and a thick, woolen scarf. "Be careful out there, messere. I'll wait here by the window until you return."

"Thanks. And have someone heat up water for a bath. I'll need it when I return."

Finola rushed out the door, mixed emotions making her heart and mind race. She was seething because Bran hadn't left when he'd promised, but frightened because he always did as he said he would. Clearly something vital was holding him up at the Keep. _Maker, I hope it's something stupid and not- No, don't think that way._

She picked up the pace, taking the path Bran always walked to and from the Keep, her eyes darting to every corner and cobblestone. With the snow blanketing the ground, she paid particular attention to anything out of the ordinary, knowing Kirkwall well enough to pick out anomalies along the way. More than halfway to the Keep there was no sign of Bran. The snow pricked at her cheeks like tiny razor blades, the icy, damp air sweeping over her and stealing her breath.

As the snowstorm whipped around her she plodded on, the depth of the snow keeping her from an all out sprint, though she managed a brisk enough walk. No one was out this night, not even bandits. The thought both relieved and terrified her. "Damn this Maker forsaken weather!" She continued on, frozen and miserable, trying to ignore both sensations.

When she reached the Keep's courtyard and saw no sign of him, she bounded up the stairs. There, toward to top, she saw a crumpled and motionless body with more than a dusting of snow covering it. She called out his name, panicked, but to no avail. Her heartbeat raced and her mind was now fully alert, though her nerves felt about to fail her. When she was almost near him, she thought a shadow crossed his face, but as she drew closer, the shadow turned red. He was bleeding. She checked his pulse and examined the source of the blood. To her relief, it was just a gash on his head, but he was unconscious.

"Bran! Bran, can you hear me?" A faint moan came from him, a slight movement of his eyelids, but not much else. "Hold on, Bran, I'm getting help."

At the top of the stairs, a templar stood guard, but from his vantage point he could not see down the stairs. Finola sprang toward him. "You there, templar!" she shouted, then squinted and was finally able to put a name to the face. "Johnson, right? I need your help. Seneschal Bran is injured. You must carry him to my house in Hightown. I'd do it myself, but I'm-" She almost mentioned her pregnancy, and that would surely send the Order, not to mention the rest of Kirkwall, into a gossip frenzy. "I have a back injury."

The templar stared at her as if she spoke in a foreign language. "I cannot leave my post, Viscountess Hawke. Knight-Commander Cullen's order."

She pinned him with a ferocious glare of outrage. "Listen to me, Johnson. If you don't do as I say this instant, Cullen will hear of your insubordination. And then I promise you, you'll be guarding latrines in a Kocari outpost for the rest of your miserable life." His eyes widened, no doubt aware of her ability to make good on threats such as this one. "And do _not_ mention Bran's fall to anyone. Understand?" The young man nodded at once and scrambled down the steps. He lifted Bran's limp body and moved to sling him over his shoulders.

"Cradle him in your arms! He has a head injury for fuck's sake." Johnson's expression was questioning, but he did as ordered. "Do not let his head dangle," she added, and motioned for the templar to follow her.

The walk back was interminable, every step an excruciating effort as the snow was now past her knees. Bran was more alert with every step, and he groused and wriggled in the templars arms, but Finola shushed him and threatened him, distracted him with inane thoughts, until he realized there was no other option. As they neared her house, Finola made a final push to the door, flinging it open and shouting for help.

"Clara!"

Bodahn, who astutely assessed the situation, ushered the templar in and up the stairs to the master bedroom and was already running down the stairs when the mage came in from the kitchen. "Upstairs, Clara. The Seneschal has a nasty gash on his head."

"He fell on some stairs," Finola said, breathing heavily. "He has started to come to, but he's not speaking much. Do what you can and I'll be there in a minute."

Finola took a deep lungful of air and waited for Johnson to descend. The templar looked no worse for wear. In fact, he seemed quite refreshed. "You look like you enjoyed that little stroll, Johnson."

"To be honest, it was rather bracing, in a good way, and I rarely leave the Keep these days."

"Well, let me know if Cullen gives you any trouble. I'll take full responsibility," she said, her words running together. "Thank you for your help." She eyed Bodahn and nodded her head toward the door, then took the stairs two at a time.

"He's more alert now," Clara said when Finola rushed to the bed. The mage had already stripped him of the wet clothes, cleaned the blood, and tucked him into bed. "He has a concussion, but I don't think it's serious. I closed up the wound already, and he didn't lose much blood."

"Fine... I'm fine," he muttered. His eyes were barely open, yet there was incredible resolve in them. She took his hand and he held her loosely, still dazed.

"Can't you rejuvenate him a bit?" Finola asked. "I hate seeing him like this." At hearing the desperation in Finola's voice, Clara cast a small spell and Bran roused some more.

"There. Best to do this only a little at first. Let him get his bearings. Look at me, Seneschal." Clara waved a glowing hand in front of his face. "His pupils are reacting to light equally. That's good. I don't see any sign of paralysis either. Do you know where you are, Seneschal?"

"In Finola's chambers," he said, his voice growing stronger.

"And what time is it?"

He answered immediately. "Nighttime, past our supper hour."

"And what happened to you earlier?"

"Oh, for the love of Andraste, Clara, I know full well I fell on the stairs. Aside from a terrible headache, I have all my wits about me. Please stop questioning me."

Clara smiled and looked at Finola. "I'd say he'll be just fine."

"I _am_ fine. Stop fussing over me." His hand moved to the side of his head, his eyes scrunching closed. "Ahh… That is one very large lump."

"Leave it be, Seneschal. I'll help you with the pain." Clara put her fingers to his temples, a blue arc emanating from her fingertips. "Better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"You may leave now." Finola waved her hand. "And thanks."

"Yes, messere. Keep him awake as long as you can and I'll check on him in a little while."

When Bran heard the door close, he shifted himself to sit up a little more.

"Bran? Are you really all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm feeling much better. But this was not the way I intended our night to go." With a dramatic sigh, he shook his head, but the fogginess didn't dissipate easily. "How utterly demeaning, to have a templar carry me home as if I were a wounded lamb. And why in the Maker's name did you think it wise to come after me yourself? That was a foolish thing to do, Finola, especially in your condition."

"Oh, please. I'm in fine shape. A long walk in the snow was just what I needed tonight. _Ingrate_ ," she snapped, but her eyes stung as she held back the tears, knowing he spoke out of concern for her safety.

"You have my sincerest gratitude, Fin, and you know it." He took a sip of water, and frowned. "I trust you paid the templar to keep silent about this mishap?"

"Well, not exactly. But he knows heads will roll if he speaks of it. I threatened him with latrine duty in the Korcari Wilds. He won't say anything." She stuffed another pillow behind him and then put her hand in front of his face with two fingers up. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

He squinted and said, "Four?" She gasped, but a small smile crept to his lips. "Two, Finola. Two."

"You son of a-" Her head dropped into her hands, a deep breath of relief filling her lungs. A surge of emotion shook her, closing her throat. "Don't you ever do this to me again, you hear?"

"Apologies, my dear. It was not my intention to crack my skull on the Keep's stairs. Although having you fuss over me this way is rather pleasant, so I won't make any promises."

"That's not the least bit funny." Her voice broke, and she turned away from him. Embarrassed by her tears, she stood up and walked over to the window.

"Oh, come now, Fin, I was only jesting. I know you were worried about me, but I'm fine. You shouldn't be embarrassed to show me how much you care."

She spun on her heels. "You're the one who should be embarrassed, tripping down the stairs as if you were a babe learning to walk. Or did you think to use your ass for a sled? That's what you get for not leaving when you said you would," she prattled. "I mean really, Bran, how could you be so careless? So thoughtless? Did you even consider me at all?"

An amused grin stole across his face. "Ah, there she is, the selfish and aloof woman I love." _Transparent as ever._

She flew to the bed and laid her head on his chest, relishing his steady heartbeat. "Damn it, Bran, I was scared to death when I first saw you there, motionless and bleeding."

"Don't remind me. I may never live it down."

"And this isn't even a serious injury," she said. "You've made me soft."

"No, I haven't. You've always been a softie when it comes to those you love."

"Bah," she said out loud, not meaning to. But she curled up next to him, her arms wrapping around him and squeezing him tight. "You still don't know me very well, Bran."

He didn't respond to the absurd statement, knowing that arguing with her was foolish. He hadn't the energy for more verbal sparring anyway. He ran his fingers through her hair and dipped his head down to drop a kiss, blissfully comfortable despite the slight throbbing of his head. It was as if her presence had the power to heal him somehow. Not altogether surprising, given that from the moment he'd met her, he'd realized there was something about her that warmed the cold depths of his soul and eased the gloomy isolation that had always been so much a part of his daily life.

There, with her holding him, she was worth every change he'd made, every sacrifice, because in her arms he was complete. And it was more than apparent that she was complete in his arms too.

"I love you, Fin."

"You better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by the blizzard here in the Northeast last weekend. Also, it's Valentine's Day and I was in the mood for a romantic one-shot about my favorite couple from Kirkwall.


End file.
